A Growing Robin
by Fighter1357
Summary: Richard Grayson's parents have just died. What now? Where will he go? Well, being taken in as a ward of a mutlibillionare hadn't been on the list, but maybe, just maybe, it'll do. His life through the years at Wayne Manor.
1. Chapter 1: Deaths of Eagles'

**First thing's first, I own nothing. Not Robin nor Recess (The TV show if anyone remembers, Dick would have grown up on it). Nada, Zip, Zilch. Understood? Good. :)**

**Next, I decided to do a 'Richard-to-Robin' fics. You know, his life through the years. And this contains fluff. Also, I am making Dick six years old in this as to add to the cuteness and that way I can make him more like a child. At eight, you generally don't go sleep in your parents bed but, then again, most eight year olds didn't watch their parents fall to their deaths; which is where we are starting this fic. **

**I'm going for that feeling that you get when you read something uber sad and dpressing (like character death fics) or uber cute (Daddy freaking bats!). You know, that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach? Where you feel all empty inside? Yeah, that one. I'm not going for tears but if they spill, sorry. **

**I've never read the comics so what I know is only from the show and Wikipedia (which isn't that reliable) and other fanfics (which aren't that reliable either) so if I get anything wrong I hope you understand. **

**Whether you like/love/hate/despise or whatever; please review. **

**Only the wisest and the stupidest of men never change. - Confucius**

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**Chapter I: **

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"Mommy! Mommy! Uita-te la mine! Eu o fac!" The young boy yelled, swinging in the air, flipping. A lady watched her little boy 'fly' through the air, flipping and twisting in a perfect form. One glance and you could tell he was a natural.

"English my little bird. We have to work on your english," she laughed, smiling. The boys father grinned as he saw the boy pout, frowning at the thought of the language and speaking it. The boy landed on the platform fifty feet above the air, setting the roped bar on a hook.

"Do I _have _to?" He asked, his mouth forming over the few english words he knew. Actually, he knew a few as he mother taught him but he still preferred Romani, 'ice cream' was one of his favorites to say in english. He looked down at his mother and father, who was grinning as he looked between the two, knowing this argument, as it was constantly replayed. His mother frowned and watched as her little boy climbed down the ladder.

"Yes, Richard, you do. Can you understand me? You have to learn english," she said and smiled, ruffling his hair as he walked over, pouting and looking up at her with big navy-azure blue eyes. She smiled.

"Did you understand me?"

"Da."

"English," Richard's father said, staring down at him with one eyebrow raised, ending Richard's fun with his stern but kind voice.

"Yes tată, I mean, dad. Sorry mommy," Richard whispered. His mother shot his father and look and bent down to his eye level, smiling. "It's fine my little robin, just english outside of The House and Romani in." She said and kissed his forehead. The six year old giggled and smiled up at his mother, nodding.

The trailer they lived in was called 'The House' and it was decorated with crayon drawings, pictures of the countries and cities they've visited, and an old quilt hanging on the left wall, next to a small window. Their kitchen was cluttered with second grade level books for the little boy, who was bored with 'fuzzy wuzzy was a bear-' and other books that were rhymed because thought entertaining by adults. The boy, whose name was Richard, had a blue elephant named Peanut, which was graciously put on another patched quilt on a small bed. A vase of carnations were on a small desk by a bigger bed and The House was cramped. And there were only three windows.

It was homey.

It was as simple as that.

The Grayson's lived there as comfortably as they could have lived in a regular family home. The boy was hardly there though, always training or feeding the animals or learning something from the other circus members. The whole circus was his house and The House was his resting room. And where Peanut the elephant stayed.

"Mary?" A voice said, coming from the outside of the tent. A man popped his head in, he had black hair that was turning white and kind brown eyes. "John?" The voice continued.

Both adults looked up from their kid to the man. John Grayson stepped forward. "Mr. Haley, what do you need?" he asked, smiling at the older man.

Mr. Haley stepped in and another followed after him.

The man behind Mr. Haley wore a suit and a briefcase was firmly grasped in his hand. He had black hair which was cropped back. He had brown eyes that wandered around curiously. His suit was obviously expensive and a nice silver watched was on his hand. They red tie was straight and a nice smile was on his face.

"Mary! John! This is Mr. Bruce Wayne! He'll be here tonight to watch the show! He wanted to meet you and ask some questions. Is that alright?" Mr. Haley asked, smiling warmly as he looked between the two. Mary and John both smiled at Mr. Haley and nodded.

"Mr. and Mrs. Grayson! How nice to meet you! And, who is this?" Mr. Wayne smiled at them and turned toward Richard, who stared up at him with his curious blue eyes.

Mary Grayson smiled at Mr. Wayne, but eyed the playboy warily. Wherever the circus went she heard of him. Party's, girls and maybe a few drinks. But, right now, he seemed to be here just for what Pop Haley said, just to ask a few questions. He seemed nice enough, but she couldn't imagine what living with him would be like. Richard, neither her nor John, would like that style of living. It didn't comfom to their ways. Rich really wasn't in the circus vocabulary.

"This is my son, Richard John Grayson." She said warmly, pushing Richard up forward a bit. Richard stared up at him and smiled but it was obvious he was shy. Bruce smiled down at him. "Hi," he said and looked down at him and then turned toward his parents. "Is he going to be doing the show with you tonight?"

Mary and John looked at each other and then at Richard. "Yep, he'll be joining us, in the last act," she smiled down warmly at him. He looked up at her and grinned.

"Pot să mă duc vizita Mark?" Richard asked, staring up at her and tugging on her shirt sleeve. The smiled at him but shot a warning look. "English, Dick. Dacă nu vorbesc engleză, nu se pot alătura în pe actul!" Her tone took one of warning and Mr. Wayne could only guess she was treatening him with something. Richard's eyes widened with fear.

"No! Sorry! Nu! Te rog! Imi pare rau!" His english was broken but he grinned up at his mother weakly. She laughed and ruffled his hair, nodding. The boy grinned and smiled at Mary Grayson and John. He turned toward Bruce and smiled. "Bye!" and then he ran off.

Bruce watched in silence, thinking about the life with his parents. The boy ran out of the room screaming for someone named Mark and the boy's father shook his head, smiling. Mary looked up at him and then at Bruce, her face hardening. Bruce knew that look. She didn't want him near her son. He chuckled internally at that thought. He looked where Richard has disappeared and then at his mother.

Her smile was nice but her eyes were blaring red alert. Stay away, they said. "So, how do you do what you do?" Bruce asked, taking the conversation away with a smile and a simple sentence.

As always.

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Richard threw the knife. Mark, the knife thrower, was showing him how. He had been doing it for a couple of weeks now and was getting good. Mark said he was a natural.

"Dick! Very Good!" Mark said. Richard, whose nickname was Dick, scrunched up his nose. His mother had announced to everyone that they talk to him in english, in order to learn. He didn't like it, but it certainly helped and Dick was getting good. Though, he didn't tell anyone as he was convinced it wouldn't work. When he told his mother this she laughed and said it would. So, of course, he was now going out of his way to prove her wrong, even if she was right and he was learning fine. He looked at Mark, trying to figure out what he said, or trying to look like he was trying to figure out what he said. Mark grinned at his expression and put a thumbs up. Dick giggled and nodded, laughing. It worked!

"Come on, once more." Mark said and threw another knife, getting a bulls-eye. Dick marveled at how he could throw so well, and always tried to imitate it. He did well and Mark would show him how to position himself correctly and how to hold the knife. It was pretty easy but that was just the way Mark did it. Dick was pretty sure elephant would have a tough time, but then, who knows? Maybe he wouldn't!

"Your turn, Dick," Mark said, floding his arms over his chest and grinning.

Dick nodded and gripped the knife. Sure, he was six. But he was smart.

And he threw the knife again.

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Mary sighed and she leaned against the counter.

"I swear, that Mr. Wayne is crazy!" She looked at her husband who was sitting on they're bed. "He just wanted to ask some questions Mary," the man pointed out. She frowned. "I know, but, he asked about Richard. Should I be worried?"SHe looked over at her husband desperatly, awaiting an answer.

John frowned and looked up. "Maybe he just wanted to know a bit about him. He's the youngest person to do a quadruple flip ever. I'd be interested if it were me," John said and smiled, thinking about his smiling son. Mary sighed and nodded, now smiling.

"I suppose."

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Richard rounded the corner and froze when he heard the voices.

"Mr. Zucco, if you will please leave!" Mr. Haley's voice shouted. Dick froze and he quickly hid behind a few crates and peeked out to the other side. Obviously, this was important as Mr. Haley rarely ever yelled. This was, of course, what had caught Dick's attention. The only time he had yelled like that was when some boys from Star City had attempted to let some of the animals go. That had been a funny night. Dick moved out a little further, just so he could see what he was hearing.

A man with a black suit and red tie stood in front of Mr. Haley, sneering like that one lady on the TV. What was her name? Oh yeah, Miss Muriel Finster, the weird one on one of his favorite shows, Recess. The mans' hair was a thinning black, greasy mass on his head and he had a cigar between his lips. He grabbed it between his fingers and pulled it out, a ring of smoke coming from his mouth.

Haley swatted it away and scowled. "Mr. Zucco, leave now or I will call the cops!"

Zucco sneered. "I would pay up or else some of your members might suffer an accident!" He threatened and grinned nastily at Pop Haley. Mr. Haley frowned.

As did Dick. He didn't understand exactly what the man called Zucco was saying, but from the tone of his voice and the way he looked it might not have been nice. It certainly, Dick thought, wasn't about unicorns or rainbows. Or maybe Veggie Tales.

"If you dare touch any of my performers-" Mr. Haley started put was cut off by Zucco pushing him to the side and laughing. "What will you do Haley?" He laughed and walked away. Dick realized to late that Zucco was comin toward him and before he knew it the scary man was in front of him, sneering.

"What do we have here?" He asked. Haley looked up, worried, to see Zucco leaning over some crates. He frowned and walked over, grabbing the mans' shoulder. Zucco growled but stepped aside. Dick looked up.

"Zucco, leave the child alone. Richard, go." Haley said, sending him a look. Dick looked between the two and understood _that _word.

Go.

He turned and ran to the trailer.

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"Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you to Haley's Circus! We hope you enjoy the show and welcoming a special guest: Bruce Wayne!" Mr. Haley announced from the center ring, smiling and bowing as the people clapped. The spotlight shifted to Bruce Wayne and the man stood up and waved, smiling his usual playboy smile.

The spotlight shifted back to Mr. Haley and he grinned.

"Well! Let's begin the show!"

First were the clowns, and then the knife thrower and then the animals and the stilt walkers and then more and more and then the final act of the night.

The trapeze artists.

The Flying Graysons.

The lights snapped off with a loud **boom**. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the Flying Grayson's!" The crowd went wild with the cheering and clapping.

Mary squeezed Richard's hand. "Eşti gata pasare mica mea? Are you ready my little bird?" She asked, repeating wat she had just said in Romanian in English. He smiled up at her and nodded, thinking about how he was her little robin. The little bird who could fly, just like the big birds. He looked up at his tată and grinned. His father looked down at him and smiled back warmly, ruffling his hair.

The boy flattened his black, onyx hair against his head again and looked down at the red leotard, which had the black R in a yellow circle. His shoes were simple and were tight against his feet, but he was used to it. He smiled up at his parents and then waited for the spotlight to shine were they were waiting in the dark. Luckily his eyes had gotten used to it and he could see just fine.

"-present to you, the Flying Grayson's!" Mr. Haley yelled. The curtain opened up and showed a hue crowd full of people, and a special booth reserved for Mr. Wayne himself. Dick and his parents waved to the crowd. "Joining them tonight is their son, Richard, who will also be performing with them, but, without a net!"

The crowed gasped and clapped wildly. Dick smiled and continued waving, thinking of how they were over doing it just a bit.

His mother smiled and kissed him on the head (the crowd awed) and she walked onto the platform and grabbed the trapeze. His father smiled and nodded at Dick, his eyes telling him he loved him. Dick smiled and watched as his mother and father defied gravity, ohhing and awing with the crowd. The flipped and twisted and flipped and did tuck jumps, strattle jumps and even a few pikes were thrown in as well. Dick could do all of them as well. And then… the quadruple flip.

"Mary and John Grayson and their son Richard are the only people on _earth _who can do that flip!" Mr. Haley said. The crowd awed again and went wild as the did it.

And then… the final act. Dick's father grasped his mothers legs and their momentum pushed them toward the platform Dick was stationed. His mother was coming toward him with opened arms, smiling, encouraging him to grab her hand. And then…

**Snap! **

**Crack! **

…they were falling. Dick watched as his mother, just a finger tip away, began falling. His father too. Falling. Mary Grayson's hand barely touched her sons before they were hurtling toward the ground. The crowd grew silent. They continued to fall, almost in slow motion, which tortured the boy as they fell, down. Down toward the unforgiving earth where they would be greeted with nothing. Not a warm welcome like it always was, but one of cold heartedness. One that would never be forgotten for the ones that watched helplessly on the sides.

"Mamă! Tată!" He yelled, reaching out toward their falling forms. "Richard!" his mother yelled, giving him a pained, distressted look. The image was burned into his head and the boys' father watched as his son moved further and further away. Further away forever. There was nothing he could do but watch, just watch them fall. It hurt him, it hurt his eyes. But he couldn't peel them away, Richard was frozen in place as he simply watched; just watching them fall.

And then… crack, as their bodies slammed against the floor, their bones cracking and snapping on the ground. Blood began to seep from them, making a puddle of the red, sickily liquid. No one moved, made a sound. Not a child cried, not a parent made any movement to move. They just stared in horror. And then, finally, a cry to break the silence.

"Mamă! Tată!" Dick began climbing down the ladder so fast, one could hardly tell he was even climbing down it. He ran to their crushed, deformed bodies and fell to their side. He touched his mother's cheek. "Mamă! Wake up!" He cried. "Tată!"

Tears began to fall as he realized what happened. As he realized they weren't waking up. No one said an thing as they watched the now orphaned child cry over his parents bodies, their blood on his fingertips. The knife thrower, Mark, came out and tried to get him to come but the boy screamed and kicked when he tried to grab him. He was crying, the pain and loos in his crys were there and were evident. He shook, trembling as he closed his eyes from the bloody images, but they were burned in his mind too. The tan boy finally opened his eyes, red and puffy eyes that stared down at them for a few seconds. Tears streaked down his cheeks and he placed his hands on theirs. Dick kept a hand on their cheeks but his hands slipped away when he himself was pulled away.

And it was final.

The Flying Grayson's, were dead.

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**Well, tell me if I should continue and thanks for clicking on it. I appreciate it and hope it wasn't a waster of your time. Thanks! Did you get the empty feeling? **

**I won't update for awhile because I need to work on my story 'Warp' which is a Nightwing story and is demanding updates. So, this will have to wait unless, of course, you send a review and request for more now. ;)**

**Like/love/hate/despise? **

**Review! **

**Don't look where you fall, but where you slipped. -Unknown **


	2. Chapter 2: A little Robin's pain

**Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! GremlinX: Yeah, I read it over so many times that I missed the mistakes I was hoping to catch. Hopefully, there won't be any in this one! **

**Well, thank you. 12 reviews on the first Chapter is awesome and I thank you all for the opinions. :) And, don't worry, there will be twists and turns in this story. It won't be just straight forward. ;)**

**Witch08: Wow, you cried? I suppose the story surpassed the expectations I had for emotions. Sorry, I didn't mean to. But, this one I am going, somewhat anyway, for tears. **

**I own nothing, not even Woody or **_**Annie.**_

_**Don't let your victories go to your head, or your failures go to your heart.- Unknown**_

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**Chapter 2: **

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Richards feet swung freely beneath him.

He pulled at his shirt collar, which he felt was choking him. He was sitting outside of Mr. Haley's trailer, refusing to go asleep. It was, what? Three in the morning? Yeah. Mr. Haley and a few more performers were standing there, comforting the boy when the sobs he was trying to hold back broke free. The young boy had changed out of his performing outfit, seeing it made him cry, and had changed into a green t-shirt and black pants.

His normal bright blue eyes had lost their light, their drive gone, his eyes were red and puffy. They showed no other emotion other than pain. He stared at the ground and wrapped his quilt around him and Peanut snuggled into his chest.

A lady with black hair and rectangular glasses stood by him. The cops were there at the circus as well. The lady wore a black skirt and jacket, with a white blouse shirt underneath. Her pointed black shoes were shining in the moonlight. She leaned over Dick.

"Richard?" She asked quietly, staring at him with pitying and worried eyes. He looked over with his dead blue eyes. They were so deep, like a lake of skies that had rained down and covered the lake with the sky color blue. They were dark though, as if a storm cloud had covered the sky.

"Yes, Mrs. Parker?"

Samantha Parker smiled at his sweet, child-like voice. Her own nephew back in DC was rarely this cute, but, then again, he was eleven. He lost his cuteness when he threw his Woody doll across the living room at Christmas. Samantha, a government official and worked in a branch that covered certain things that need not be mentioned. She worked with an adoption agency as well.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and comforting as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye; Samantha saw Mr. Haley smile sadly. Richard Grayson frowned and stared down at the ground again, his small six year old hands clutching the elephant and blanket like he was afraid they would be gone forever as well.

"I can't get the picture out of my head…" He muttered and chocked, the grotesque picture burned in his mind seemed to have emotions that flowed to Samantha, as she too began to feel loss, and he buried his face in to the crook of her neck. Samantha almost fell back with shock but slowly brought her hand up to pat him in the back. He sounded to broken, so sad. So… angry. It was hard to detect but it was there.

Richard looked up at her. "Where will… where will I go? What will happen?" He asked quietly, his voice barely audibly over the police sirens. Samantha frowned and tried to come up with an answer but found none. She knew that all of the Gotham Adoption agencies were full, which was sad, and didn't know where he would end up. The circus couldn't take him in, they had no legal right.

"I…I don't know," she whispered and he nodded, looking away. Samantha wished she could do more, she really did but… there was only so much one could do.

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Bruce stared down at his desk, frowning.

His coffee was pushed to one side and his hands were over his temples, rubbing occasionally. He looked down at the papers and his frowned deepened. Who cared at Wayne Tech? I mean, he was obligated to care and he did, but right now it was such a simple distraction from what really mattered.

What mattered right now was that boy.

Richard John Grayson, the one who watched his parents fall to their deaths at the age of six. Watched as their bodies fell to the ground and snapped on impact, blood leaking from them. He shivered. It had been horrible, the boys cries, the parents, the panic in the child's face as he watched them fall. And, sadly enough, it was all to familiar. His parents had been shot in front of him, right there. A bullet in their chests.

Sure, it had been dark. But fate was a being a jerk and allowed the moon to shine at full. The blood glinted horribly. But that boy's cry's and screams sounded like he was being tortured. It reminded him of that moonlit color crimson. That's what his cries reminded Bruce of.

Bruce had been there. For heavens sake, he was Batman! He could have saved them! Saved Richard from the pain. But, no, he didn't. He just watched in horror like everyone else as they fell. But, he wasn't everyone else. He was Batman and the entire reason he created Batman was to stop such things from happening!

Why did it happen?

Why was fate cruel to those so young?

"Master Bruce?" A thick accented British voice said, opening the door to Bruce's study. Bruce looked up and rubbed his temple again, quickly washing away his thoughts from his mind. Alfred Pennyworth, the butler for the Wayne family for who knows how long, stood at the door. He was like Bruce's second father, the man who helped him when he lost his parents. The man who was just always there. Alfred always knew what you were thinking, most of the time, and Bruce always wondered how the butler did it.

He learned, of course he did, though. Listen and watch. It was simple as using your senses. And that was what Bruce did. What Batman did. So far, it hadn't failed any of them.

"Yes, Alfred?" He asked, looking up completely now. Alfred had walked in, now standing in front of the oak wood desk. His face and stature were blank and straight, like a proper butler, but the man's eye held questions and possibly answers too.

"I noticed something bothering you when you came in last night. Perhaps you wanted to talk about it?"

Bruce chuckled slightly. Oh Alfred.

But, yes, he did want to talk about it. He wanted to blurt everything he saw and felt. But he didn't, he simply frowned. "I didn't tell you?" He asked the butler. He knew, of course, that he hadn't said a thing. He had walked straight up from the front door to his room, locking himself in. Alfred had watched him and, this morning, had made breakfast for him, not that he did anyways but today it seemed like there was something else behind it. The man had killer cinnamon buns.

"No, Master Bruce, you did not. In fact you rarely said anything at all-" Alfred went on but he paused, waiting for Bruce to cut in and say he was fine and nothing was bothering him. But Bruce said nothing, a silent plea for the butler to continue. Alfred cleared his throat.

"-what exactly happened at the circus. I heard police sirens sir. Was someone hurt?"

Bruce frowned. Hurt was the nicest word you could possibly use to describe that boy. He had seen, last night as he left, the boy with a government agent comforting him. Destroyed was the best thing to say, maybe that didn't even cut it either. The black clouds that covered the boy was filled with tears and loss. His sobs echoed around the circus grounds and his eyes, full of pain and loss and sadness and anger, looked around wildly hoping that maybe, just maybe, they were alive.

No such luck.

"Yes, Alfred, I suppose you could say someone was hurt."

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Richard rubbed the tears away and looked around 'The House'. He could only take a few things to… well, wherever he was going. No one had really told him. The small Superman suit case held some clothes and a picture of his parents. There was a small notebook on the side-desk by his parents bed that he had wanted to take but a Gotham official, not as nearly as nice as Samantha, said he couldn't take it. He didn't know what was in it, but it seemed important. To bad, he really wanted it.

And he couldn't take Peanut. Oh! Poor Peanut! Where would he go? How would he survive! He was just one lone elephant! How would he survive out there! His mother had told him that Gotham City was so dirty, so full of crime that is was considered on of the worst cities next to Bludhaven, which was almost nearly as bad.

"I miss them…" he whimpered to himself and wiped silent tears from his eyes. It hurt to even think about them. He took one last look at the Flying Grayson's poster in the trailer, it hurt to much to call it 'The House', and turned away, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks, leaving lille rugged trails.

"Richard, are you ready?" Mrs. Parker, Samantha asked, opening the door slowly and walking in. She looked around and smiled, it was nice. It would have been a nice place to live. When Samantha noticed the boy she frowned and walked over, kneeling down to his eye level. "Do you think you'll be alright?" She asked, though already knew the answer. Just by looking at him you already knew.

He looked up at her and Samantha practically melted, he looked to sad, so lonely, so ruined. "Oh!" She cried and gave him a small hug, wrapping her arms around him caressingly. He cried, freely, not as much as when he lay over their bodies but not like when he had been in front of everyone else.

He just… simply… cried.

The was a knock on the door and Samantha looked over, expecting Ron Armdons, the Gotham official, but was greeted with a man. He had black hair and blue eyes and a nice suit on. He had a small notepad in his hands.

Reporter.

Samantha frowned and stood up reluctantly, Richard gripped he legs and cried. "Are you going to ask questions?" She asked harshly, glaring at the man. "Because if you are-"

"I'm… not. No, I was sent in to get you. I was only asking questions of the other performers and Mr. Haley. I wouldn't ask Richard any, I couldn't do that." The man smiled and then it faded when he looked down at the boy. Samantha let out and internal sigh of relief. His eyes stared at the floor, they were enigmatic. The blue swirling with an almost grey color. When had they changed?

Samantha reached down and grabbed Richards hand. "Are you ready?" She asked once more, tugging slightly at his arm. He looked up at her with those big blue enigmatic eyes and said, and it was said in the most sweet and honest but broken voice that was layered with truth, "I was never ready."

Samantha look up at the man, whose name she had yet to acquire, and sent him a sad, desperate look of panic. He stared at her and then at the boy.

"Richard," he said softly, kneeling to his level, "If you want to stay a little while longer that would be alright. Mrs. Parker and I will wait outside." He smiled warmly and Samantha smiled, perfect.

Richard nodded. "Okay."

Mrs. Parker mouthed a 'thank you' in the mans direction and followed him out, closing the door softly behind her. She stepped away from the trailer, feeling, even though she was outside, that she was invading on something important. "So," she said, turning toward the man, "what's your name?" His face got a comedic stature and he chuckled. He was so much unlike the other reports that Samantha felt a bit betrayed, she loved getting into arguments with them. But he was different, the others would have asked questions first and cared little about the feelings of the one asked after, or not at all.

The man held out his hand. "Kent, Clark Kent."

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Richard 'Dick' Grayson stared around the trailer, and, most specifically: the little leather notebook.

To take or not to take.

That was what the question was, and, between those simple words of thought were: to obey or not to obey. The Gotham official had said not to and his mother (internal flinch) had said not to disobey adults but that leather book just sat there teasing him on the little desk.

He walked over to it, reaching his hand out just a little further… a little closer…

Then, suddenly and to his surprise, the door swung open and Richard jumped back in shock and surprise. Samantha stood there, looking a little guilty as she said one word, "Ready?" she asked, it was easily heard in her voice that she was sorry to be pressuring him but he nodded and didn't argue.

One last glance at the notebook and then he walked over to the Flying Grayson's poster. He put his fingers on his parents' faces one last time and then walked out past Samantha, whose eyes followed him with sadness and pity. She quickly glanced at the poster and then at the notebook. She frowned and then walked over, taking it for safe keeping.

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The funeral.

The word rang in Richard's mind over and over. Funeral. There shouldn't have to be one. Mr. Wayne, the man he met that day, was paying for it, donating the money. Mr. Haley had been so happy, actually, the circus had gotten a lot of donating money and Haley put it away for Richard.

"Will you be okay?" A male voice said from behind him. He didn't turn away from the coffin's that confined them. The service was done, over with. "That's what everyone asks." He said simply, still not looking up. He felt a hand on his shoulder, a strong one but still, he did not looked up. "Well, that's because everyone wants to know." The voice continued.

"Why?"

"I don't' know. I suppose… I suppose because that's what matters."

"But what about them? They matter." Richard said, pointing at the coffins.

"Of course they do-"

"Then why ask about me?"

The was no answer to this. Still, Richard hadn't turned around. He still stared, straight ahead. A thousand yard stare, just looking past the city, the hills, the sky, past everything else.

"Because you're here." The voice finally said after a few minutes of complete silence. A bird began to chirp and, Richard, instantly recognizing it, looked over, surprised. It was a robin, a red bellied robin. I smiled and shakingly looked back and the coffin. Robin, her little robin.

"I'll be okay." He finally said and after a bit the footsteps retreated. He never found out who the voice was.

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The first thing Richard noticed about this room; was that it had barred windows and the door was big, bulky and metal with a huge lock on the outside. And everything was cement. And there were weird phone booth things down the hall where he cam in.

Overall, it was a really weird place. A weird orphanage. Even the ones on TV and _Annie _were better than this place. Frankly, it scared the six year old. Samantha and the Gotham official, Ron Armdons, walked with him. He had had to say his goodbyes the night before and had stayed in the hotel with Samantha. He cried again, not for his parents though, it was because he had to leave the circus for good. They couldn't take him, they weren't allowed.

Mr. Haley. He had to say goodbye to Pop Haley, his grandfather, friend, second father. To Mark, Laura and James: the lion trainers, and everyone else. He would have to say goodbye to Samantha Parker too.

They walked past the metal doors with barred windows, big, burly boys stood at the windows looking down, sneering and spitting when the walked by. A man, who worked here, yelled at them with a screaming voice. Richard flinched when he spoke harshly. Why was he here? Wasn't this an adoption agency? Like the one in _Annie_? Well, it certainly didn't look like one.

Samantha put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down when he looked up. He just frowned at her and looked away.

"Well," the man said, pulling out a key and pressing a number sequence in a key pad by the door, "Lil' Rich-ard gonna be stayin' here. Don' know haw long, sorry." He shrugged and the door slid open with a **schlock! **Samantha frowned when he saw the room. "I don't like him staying here. Will he be fine with the other…" she frowned, not wanting to say inmates but didn't know what else to say. The man, named Mr. Harley, smiled at her apologetically. "Other kidz? He shou' be. I'll be keeping' my eye on dis one. Poor kid,"

They watched as Richard let his Superman suit case fall on the floor and he sat down on the bed, curling in a ball. He stared at the barred window, frowning and blinking tears away. Mr. Harley shook his head, wondering why he had to stay in a Juvenile Center (a.k.a the tiny Arkham of Gotham) there were open spaces in Adoption agencies elsewhere, why here? Samantha, thinking something along the same lines and turned to Mr. Armdons. "Why does he have to stay here? Why not Star City? Metropolis? Somewhere!" She exclaimed and watched sadly as the door closed and clicked, signifying the locking of itself. Mrs. Parker shook her head.

Ron smiled. "Because they wouldn't take him!" He sneered and walked away, chuckling darkly to himself.

Samantha shook her head. They would, if they had been asked.

Richard was tucked in a ball on the bed.

How long had he been here? Two months? Something like that. He couldn't do it, he couldn't get the pictures away, get the nightmares from coming. Oh, how he wished he had Peanut!

He wished he had his parents! The nightmares. They blamed him, blamed him for not grabbing his mothers hand. It was his fault he was like this, stuck here where he was bullied and pushed around and alone. He could have come with them, but, no, he was being selfish, keeping his life to himself. He saw the bloody images passing through his head, their faces and hollowed out eyes, crying for him. Telling him it was his fault they were dead. He saw Zucco, heard him too. He could have stopped it.

Zucco.

The man to blame for his pain. It was Zucco's fault, that was what he told himself. But, in his mind, with his parent's, the nightmares, telling him it was his fault, he couldn't help but blame himself, deep down and inside. He cried and cried but it didn't help, didn't make the pain go away. It never helped and neither did the other boys.

The other boys, especially Damien, who stole from a bank at thirteen. Damien made it worse, pushed him, calling him the circus freak, foreign freak, weirdo. Richard didn't do anything, he couldn't, he was so lost and alone, there was no one to help him. So, he simply let everything fall.

Himself, his life (which was practically already gone), everything. He should have grabbed his mothers hand, it as his fault and, maybe, just maybe, he could have saved them.

He let his head fall into his knees, tears spilling over.

He couldn't have saved them, no one could have.

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Bruce's hand slammed against his desk and he threw the newspaper down, the papers falling everywhere. A juvenile center? That's where they put the _sic year old? _No one could have taken him, for heavens sake he watched his parents fall. No one? Bruce shook his head and sipped his coffee, this was unbelievable.

"Master Bruce? Is something wrong?" Alfred asked, looking over at Bruce, who was in the library, reading the newspaper. Bruce looked up, and it was obvious he was angry even furious would cover it. His eyes were narrowed and he was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Wrong? _Wrong? _Alfred, they put him in a juvenile center!" He exclaimed. Alfred frowned and walked over, leaning to see the paper better. "You mean the boy? Richard Grayson?"

Bruce scowled and nodded. "Yes…" he frowned and looked away, down at the ground, thinking.

"Alfred, what do you think about a ward?"

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**T.T **

**I hadn't planned on updating this till Friday, so consider yourselves lucky. My main update days will be Friday's and/or Tuesdays and if I don't update on those days expect something the next day. Of course, If I get uber excited about a chapter than that rule is thrown out the window. Soooo! Hope you enjoyed and I probably won't update **_**this **_**Friday, I am going to be working ahead on chapters but right now I need to work on 'A Look' as they way surpassed my 145 reviews please! I have 156 reviews, yeah, they surpassed my expectations. **

**Also, I wanted to add Clark in. I felt that he should see him to understand something, bu I'm not sure what. If anyone has any problems, do tell. Enlighten me, please. **

**So, uh, review? ^.^**

**_Those who criticize our generation forget who raised it_.- Unknown**


	3. Chapter 3: Taken by a stranger bat

**Disclaimer: Do I have to do this every chapter? Well, fine then, do I own anything? No, apparently I am not worthy enough to own the Batman or Richard Grayson and his amazing blue eyes. Not that I would want his eyes or anything, but they're just an amazing, dark navy blue… I'll stop rambling.**

**This Chapter is an exact continuation of the next chapter. And, did you know who the man, 'the voice' was at the funeral, talking to Richard? The answer is here. Let's pretend that Gotham Academy is only a high school and there is a younger school for Elementary and Middle, kay?**

**Oh, and my Beta, PerseusSlayerofMedusa, is helping me. So, no more mistakes and stuff. After they go over it, I'll go over it again just incase we both missed anything. So, this is going to be awesome!**

**A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult.- Bible, Unknown where found, forgot. **

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**Chapter 3- **

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"Alfred, what do you think about a ward?"

Alfred stared at him.

"Have you given it any thought? At all? Are you perhaps insane?" The British man asked, one eyebrow raised as he stared at the young man he had practically raised. A ward? If anything, Alfred would have thought that Bruce had gone insane. Well, he was Batman, he couldn't just take a ward in, a mere child. The boy was six, if that was even the boy he was thinking of.

Bruce frowned at Alfred and looked away, linking his fingers together and placing his chin on his hands and leaning on his knees. He face was firm and Alfred could only assume what his answer was. Certainly not the one he hoped for. The look that had wriggled its way into Bruce's eyes slightly frightened the old man, a look of complete and utter determination. Something just had to be done and since no one would step up, he would.

"Yes, I have. I thought about it ever since that conversation after the funeral. At first… at first I wasn't sure. I told myself it was a dumb idea, it wouldn't work. Not with me being Batman, no, that couldn't work. But, I thought about it some more and I saw… I saw myself in that boy Alfred. I… I don't want him to end up like me, he shouldn't have that. He can't. I'll call-"

"Master Bruce-"

"No, Alfred, I'll do it. I know this is the right thing to do and, that way, you'll finally have someone to talk to when I'm gone." Bruce said and stood up firmly, looking more determined than he ever was before. Alfred sighed and stepped back, hands up in weak defense. His eyes twinkled however, glad that Bruce hadn't let himself be stopped.

Yes, he did want that boy.

And he could see in Bruce's eyes, he wanted a son.

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Richard looked up at the sound of the metal door opening.

The door to his… room, opened up with hardly a sound at all. He was sleeping for the most part. In all honesty, he was afraid to sleep. The nightmares, the nightmares… they never left, never ceased to continue their horrible effects on the boy.

A man, one he had never seen before, in the Gotham Juvenile Center uniform, stood there. He was scowling and his five O'clock shadow slightly scared the boy. The mans black eyes made him was to shrink back in fear, they were narrowed and the light glinted off them horribly.

"Get ya stuff ready kid. Yo' leavin'," he grunted and left, leaving the door open.

Richard blinked. He was leaving? After three months of this place, he was finally leaving. For the first time since April 1st, when they died, he cracked a small smile. It wasn't anything like the big grin he had, it was merely small twitches of his mouth moving upward, but, after those three months, it could be considered a smile.

Richard jumped up in a tuck jump and grabbed his superman suitcase, which hadn't been opened, as it was regulation to wear an orange uniform, and leapt out of the room, running down the hall as the older boys watched him with curiosity and jealousy. Another metal door waited at the end but it opened and he ran out. The warden was there and a few of the other workers were. Richard stopped short when he saw a man in a suit, a nice suit.

The man, Mr. Bruce Wayne, was sitting across the warden in a nice, plain black suit and black dress shoes. A light blue shirt was nicely pressed and was under the black jacket. He had that same silver watch and briefcase with him.

When he saw Richard he smiled and stood up. Richard looked toward the warden and noticed, for the first time, Samantha Parker standing behind the warden.

"Samantha!" He exclaimed and, forgetting the promise that he made himself, began speaking in rapid Romani. "Samantha! Ce faci aici? Am crezut ca ai plecat pentru totdeauna! Eşti aici pentru a mă?" But, with the confused expressions everyone had come to, he paused and shrunk back. "Sorry, english, I forget."

The warden shot him a look. "Grayson, what did we tell you about speaking Romani?"

"It isn't allowed."

"Correct, now. Mr. Wayne here has come to take you home. All we need to get you out of-"

"-all we need is your permission." Samantha said hurriedly, staring at the warden angrily. They told him not speak his native tongue? They were talking to him like this? What? The child is six!

Richard stared at them blankly. Bruce, no longer smiling, stared at him and the six year old shifted uncomfortably. He looked between everyone with his dead eyes that had only lightened up for a second when he saw his old friend. He was going to live with a stranger? No! He only wanted to live with his parents! They were his parents! From the beginning! He couldn't just be taken in by a stranger, that wasn't how it worked and he certainly wouldn't be taken in by this big, tall man. With the brown, dark eyes. They seemed kind but Richard could see through them, they… he, was dark, cold and unsure of his decision.

He went instantly to his first instinct and took a involuntary step back, dropping his suitcase. "But-"

"Grayson! Pick up that-"

"We will take this outside. Thank, Mr. Makerson, for your service. We'll take this outside." Mrs. Parker said and grabbed the suitcase and his hand and dragged him out. Samantha gave a curt nod toward the now angry man and opened the door, stalking out. Richard was pulled along and he heard the silent footsteps of Mr. Wayne behind him.

It was raining, like in the TV shows, and it made Richards already depressed mood fall even lower. Why rain? Why couldn't it be sunny? Then again, the sun wouldn't match this dreadful day. Being taken in by a stranger... Richard shuddered.

There was a limo and on the side it said Gotham City on the side. Samantha opened the door and ushered him in, and waited for Mr. Wayne to walk in. She slammed the door shut, slightly damp from the constant wave of water falling from the sky. "The nerve of that man! When they hear about this in DC!" She growled and then looked at Richard, who was staring at her.

"Richard," she sighed. "How was it-"

"Awful." He interrupted her, frowning and looking around the big car in wonder. It had already begun to move toward the city hall.

She looked at Mr. Wayne, who shared he glance. "Really?" She asked.

"Yeah, do you have any food? I'm hungry?" He looked around, as if expecting food. "You can have some…wait, didn't they feed you?" Samantha turned and glared back at the center. First, they put a six year old in a Juvenile Center… in Gotham freaking City. Then, they don't feed him?

"Yeah, not that it was big… or good. Is there any? Sorry if I'm being rude," he whispered the last part and stared at the ground.

"Oh, no! Your fine! But…uh… there is no food, I am sorry. Now, sweetie, Mr. Wayne wants to take you home-" He shot her a panicked look, as if the thought of someone taking him home was an awful thought. "Don't worry, it'll be fine. We, Mr. Wayne, just needs your permission… is that all right? The papers are all ready… it's just a yes or no from you." Samantha said softly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at her and her heart almost died from the those dead, lonely blue eyes. "If I said no would I go back?"

Mr. Wayne shifted uncomfortably and looked out the window, watching the little droplets of rain that ran down the window as if a river on a map, twisting and turning until an unexpected end came. Almost like life. Life was a river, sometimes it was smooth and calm, keeping on one course. Sometimes, it was tumulus, twisting and turning, going anywhere and everywhere. Right now, it was as if the river was a waterfall, not knowing when the end would greet him.

"Yes, you would."

He frowned and looked out the window as well. Something, something written on his face, was wrong. He… you could tell. Stranger equals bad. His mother had taught him well, it's to bad…

"I'll go."

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"Just sign here Mr. Wayne," The man, a big burly looking man, said, pointing to a place on the paper. "Yes, and… and here, yes and there. No, no not… yes, there. Thank you Mr. Wayne, it's all settled."

Mr. Wayne set the pen on the glass counter and straightened. Richard was his legal ward now but he knew the boy had only said yes because he didn't want to go back to the center, and Bruce couldn't blame him, but it hurt a bit. Yes, Gotham's White Knight had been hurt. It wasn't anything that would bother him, but it certainly wasn't something that he would ignore but something that he would let go of, he would let go of the past.

He looked down and saw the boy sitting on a bench in the middle of Gotham City hall. He had already said his goodbyes to Samantha Parker, he didn't cry but he was disappointed and so was Mrs. Parker. He was sitting next to his Superman suitcase, which Bruce thought rather dryly of, and was messing with the corner of his shirt. "Richard, are you ready?"

Richard looked up and seemed irritated. Why was everyone asking him that? No, of course he wasn't ready! He had never been ready!

"Yes, Mr. Wayne." He whispered and jumped down from the seat, walking over. Bruce looked down at him and smiled slightly. He had already called Alfred to come pick them up. It was raining harder now and hopefully that wouldn't effect Bruce's mood like it always did. He had absolutely, positively no clue what he was doing, or what he had been thinking. Yes, sure, he had seen himself in this boy but… still, maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe…

Honk, Honk!

Bruce's head snapped up and he could see the limo through the glass doors. It was sleek, black and nice. Hopefully, Richard wouldn't feel to uncomfortable. When he looked down, he saw Richard's mouth hanging open, staring at the limo through the rain. "Is that your car?" He asked, staring at his, his blue eyes widening.

"Yes, come on. We need to get home."

He held the door open for the boy and let him walk out into the rain. Alfred, having already gotten out of the front, opened the door for Richard, who scrambled in away from the rain. He has stared at Alfred for a few moment, wondering if he could trust the old man and came to the conclusion that, yes, he could. Richard slid into the furthest end of the seat in the limo and Bruce came in, bending over from the rim of the roof. He sat opposite of Richard but didn't look at him.

As they began their trek through Gotham City to Wayne Manor neither spoke, said a thing. Bruce stared into those dead, lonely, sad eyes and Richard stared at the passing buildings, people, street signs, blinking tears from his eyes. Everything was changing. He didn't like change. Change hurt.

"So, Richard, tell me about yourself," Bruce said, crossing his legs and smiling at the boy. The six year old looked up at him, surprised that words had been exchanged. He had expected silence, something he had gotten used too.

Silence was accepted now, unlike before where his world was full of lights and noise and people. So much change had happened. Something that had never even crossed his mind to happen.

Bruce watched him as the boys eyes studied him. He was smart, you could tell. He remembered walking into the trailer the night after it happened and saw all the books by the small bed. A dictionary, a book on basic Latin and even 'Basic Astrology for the younger mind.'

"I'm six," Richard said in a tiny voice, staring up at him. Alfred chuckled up front and Bruce even smiled a bit. The boy, now that he could see him for the first time, had black shaggy hair and fairly tan skin, which Bruce guessed came from his Gypsy roots. His eyes, once so full of life and laughter, so blue almost like robins egg blue, were clouded over and red from tears and sleepless nights, which put dark circles under his eyes. He wore a Gotham City Juvenile Center orange uniform, which greatly angered Bruce, and even Alfred, who had merely caught a glimpse, but disliked it nonetheless for he instantly recognized it. He would have to see what he had in that suitcase and then secretly throw the suitcase out. For if Clark, Clark Kent, yes the reporter from before, saw it, Bruce would never live it down.

"Yes, I know that. But, what else. Favorite color, animal…" Bruce's voice faded off as the kid wiped a tear from his cheek and looked out the window, watching as the ran pelted the city unforgiving, mercilessly. Just like the way they had died… mercilessly, without a chance.

Suddenly, the boy burst into tears. Bruce began to panic. Had he said something wrong? What happened? "Richard?" He asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. The boy shook it off and curled into a ball, shaking and trembling.

"Richard?" Bruce asked, beginning to panic as he got no response from the boy. He ended up deciding that he would calm down on his own and he was right. Richard was fine after five minutes, little chokes or sobs would break free but he would be fine.

"I'm… I'm sorry Mr. Wayne. I didn't mean to cry." He whispered, not looking at Bruce. Bruce blinked, however, in surprise. Why was he apologizing? Crying, crying could be good. Sometime crying got rid of the pain.

Bruce wanted to say that, to comfort him in someway but now they were driving up to the Manor and Richard got slightly distracted. He pointed to the big, dark, black house rising in the distance. Bruce almost groaned. Yeah, the manor would help the kid recuperate. What was he thinking?

"Is that where you live?"

"Um, yes."

"It's big."

"Very."

"My old trailer could fit in it about a bazillion times." He sniffled and wiped a few more tears away, quickly closing his mouth, wondering why it slipped. Bruce felt heartache for the boy but he made no movement as the slipped closer to the Manor in the ever coming blanket of rain. It was foggy, misty and the overcast, dark sky certainly didn't help with any appearance of the Manor. He had known that Mrs. Parker didn't want Richard to go with him, and this certainly wouldn't make her feelings toward the decision any better.

And then lightning had to strike in the distance.

Of course.

Richard fell back, away from the Manor, knowing that he wouldn't be able to escape it's picture for long and simply sat the seat, staring down at Mr. Wayne's shoes.

They finally came to a stop in front and the door Quietly opened, Alfred standing there with an umbrella. His face held no emotion, but his twinkling eyes held a slight picture of excitement and even joy. Maybe this boy could cure Master Bruce, once Master Bruce cured him.

The boy stepped out, the orange uniform much to cheerful color stood out against the rain and the Manor's dark picture. Alfred smiled a bit, a light of hope in shining darkness. He stared up at the house's looming presence and almost feel over backward. Alfred dutifully caught him and pulled him back up. Richard looked up at Alfred and said, in the most smallest voice, "Who are you?" The boy put much thought behind it when he got in the limo, but now that the man had made a movement to keep him from falling backwards he was curious.

Alfred looked down at him and smiled, moving slightly as to let Bruce exit the car. He hefted the umbrella higher to keep the rain of both boys.

"My name, Master Richard, is Alfred, your butler." At the amazed and incredulous look on the boys face both men chuckled. The crystal blue eyes were wide with thought and wonder. A butler! How amazing! He had only dreamed of it, and here one was, standing there smiling over him. "Come on, how about we get you inside." The man had a weird accent, but he had heard the type before when they were in the city with the big clock tower.. what was it called? Landon, Loudon, London! Yes, London, the circus performed there and tons of people spoke that way. It certainly hadn't helped with his english learning, it honestly confused him. I mean, what the heck was a loo?

Alfred the butler grabbed Richards hand and, surprisingly, the boy made no protest to this action so quietly taken.

Alfred walked him up to the big, grand doors and the boy stared at them in wonder and amazement and was even a bit scared. The older man but in a sequence code in the key pad lock and opened the door. Bruce, who was waling behind, kept a wary eye on the boy, hoping he wouldn't burst out in tears. He didn't know what he said, or what had happened in the limo, but it worried him.

"This is where I live now?" Richard Grayson asked, looking around the bit foyer. The floor was Red Wood wood and was deep cherryish red. The walls were nicely paneled and had landscaped paintings and of people from Roman and Greek times., they were dark some light and some were priceless paintings from Italy. A giant crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. And a few doors led to a parlor, study, ball room, two bat room's, multiple halls and one of the two kitchens. A grand staircase was in the center and it certainly made an impression. Two pedestals with separate vases were on each end of the staircase. They were beautifully sculpted glass, made in Venice Italy during the time of glass making, where it was considered an art to make it.

The six year old looked around in wonder. He spun around, taking everything in. "This looks like the house on Scooby-Do. But it was old, and haunted, and not as nice." He said, marveling at it. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to become darker in the little light provided by the chandelier and his pale, tan skin had an eerie color to it. His ebony hair was black and a bit greasy, Alfred would make him take a shower.

"Yes, this is your house now as much as it is mine or Bruce's abode. Do you want something to eat?"

"Do you have spaghetti?"

"Of course, Master Richard."

The boy gave Alfred a small smile and he looked down, feeling slightly guilty about asking for something. Alfred nodded and turned to Bruce. "Perhaps, Master Bruce, you shall show the boy to his room? I will prepare dinner," he smiled and began walking toward the kitchen, "A dinner of three. Something new for a change!" Bruce stared rather dryly after the butler and then turned to Richard, who was gone.

Bruce frowned, how had he not heard him?

"Richard?" He called. Suddenly, he felt tugging on his suit jacket. The man looked down and saw Richard staring up at him, pointing at something. "It that Rome?" He asked. Bruce followed his finger to the picture. It was a picture of a Greek Agora, like the place to talk about politics and the deity's of Greece. He couldn't help but wonder why the boy was curious or how a six year old knew about Rome.

"No, Greece actually. Why?"

"I was curious."

Oh, well then.

Bruce hefted up a sigh and picked up the Superman case with slight disgust and a wave of uncomfortableness washed through him. "Follow me, your room is one the third floor."

Richard's eyes widened at the sound of the word 'third' and 'floor' in the same sentence. This was, of course, something entirely new and it was figured by both men it would take a while to become accustomed too, this would never be his favorite lifestyle.

"Wow…," he breathed and followed Bruce up the large, curving staircase. The railing was wooden, but it felt so smooth and so much like silk that this fingers grazed it, feeling the soft, fabric-like wood under his small fingers. It shined, glinting, in the light. The walked up the stairs and then another case, avoiding a hallway. The walked in silence. The only sound was the soft 'ping-pang' of rain on the windows that brought in dull, grey light. Finally, they came to the final destination. The door was old but it belonged in the house. The simple wooden door was dark but it seemed welcoming enough.

Bruce turned the iron knob and opened the door. Richard took in a sharp intake of air as he saw the large room that would be his. A canopy bed was stationed in the middle and a desk was on the right wall. The walls were a light grey tone and most of the furniture was either dark brown or black. A big, fancy, modern dresser was near a window and a bookshelf, piled up with nice books.

Richard smiled just a tiny bit. "This is my room?" He asked, staring around wonderingly. Bruce chuckled. "Yes, do you like it?"

The boy nodded eagerly and Bruce smiled awkwardly. "Well, uh, if you need anything… just uh, call Alfred or I. I'll leave you alone now." Bruce said and when he got no response he just closed the door. Richard turned around when he heard the soft click and realized he was alone now. His slight, fake smile faded and he walked over to the big that was much to big, jumping up on it and curling into a ball, the loneliness of the room taking him in.

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"Alfred, do you think this was a mistake?"

The butler looked up, surprised. Bruce was sitting at his desk, his singers laced together with his chin resting upon them; a thoughtful expression on his face. The boy had been with them for merely a week.

"And why, if you would not mind me asking, Master Bruce, would you think that?" Alfred said, putting down the duster from dusting the shelf's which contained more books than would have thought possible. Overall, the Manor held more books than the Gotham City Public Library. Bruce frowned and leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on the arms rest, the other supporting his face, his hand balled up in a fist as his cheek leaned against it.

"I… I don't know Alfred. I suppose I… he's not happy." Bruce grumbled, attempting to find the right thing to say, but sadly failing, much to his dislike. Alfred turned fully toward him, his face blank.

"Master Bruce, I have noticed as well that the boy is not happy. Give him time, he has only been here a week. It took time for you to heal, it'll take time for him." Alfred remarked, turning back to the shelves and dusting much faster than before. Bruce smiled slightly and picked up his pen. He would have gone out as Batman tonight, but had way to much Wayne Tech work and a few Charity event papers he was going to look over.

Right now Richard was in bed, sleeping. He would wake up every morning, bleary eyed and tired from lack of sleep. He said he needed Peanut, and Bruce had yet to figure out what or who that was. He had a few new clothes though, Alfred had picked some up for him. The silk pajamas had made the boy uncomfortable but he took them. He had new pants, shoes and shirts and socks. His hair was ragged when he woke up too, and Alfred would attempt to brush it, but it would always return to the shaggy look. Richard was bright, sometimes he would ask such complicated questions Bruce would have to actually think for an answer. He studied the plants and the paintings, asking where they came from and what style of painting. How he knew such questions and things; Bruce had no clue. If the boy would just... let people in, he would do well, amazing. Bruce didn't want to say how he was taught was wrong, but had the boy gone to a regular school from the beginning and not be home schooled but he was smart and had a ton of potential.

Bruce sighed. The boy generally avoided him and called him 'Mr. Wayne' all the time, even though Bruce said it was okay to call him Bruce. Maybe Richard felt uncomfortable with it but he would say Bruce once and then go back to Mr. Wayne. Bruce had eventually given up.

Richard walked around the Manor during the day, exploring and sometimes he would go outside in the gardens. Sometimes, Bruce would fine him in the green house, looking at the colorful flowers that Alfred grew. Originally, they had been his mothers. She had planted them, not asking for the gardeners, for she wanted to take pride in her garden. She had and Bruce didn't have the heart to take the plants away.

Dinner's were always held in silence and still; Bruce didn't know much of the boy. He didn't know his favorite color, animal, heck, he didn't even know his favorite food! He knew nothing except that his name was Richard John Grayson and he had grown up in a circus.

Bruce shook his head from his thoughts and leaned over the evil pile of paperwork on his desk.

And then he heard an earsplitting scream that chilled his bones.

Bruce jumped up, his chair falling on it's back and he dashed out of his private study, running toward the sound, leaving Alfred in the study. He ran up all three levels, cursing himself for putting the boy on the third floor and he burst in. Richard was in his bed, screaming in english and Romani.

"Mommy! Daddy! Please, don't go! Leave me….no!" Tears spilled down his cheeks and Bruce ran over. "Richard, Richard wake up-" The boy flew up and wrapped his arms around him, crying into his chest, well; wailing more like. Bruce froze and then gave him a slow hug back, patting him. They sat there for a few minutes and Bruce hadn't noticed Alfred bring in a tray of milk, leaving it on the dresser. He rubbed his back and the boy just sat there, sobbing into his chest.

He sat up shakily after a few more minutes. "Than… thank you…" He whispered. Bruce smiled.

"It's alright."

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**Well, there you go.**

**So, uh, I need to say this. You know those people who write at the A/N's on the bottom, 'I'm not happy with…' or 'I didn't like this chapter…' Yeah, THEN WHY DID YOU PUT IT UP! Seriously, I will never do that. If I'm not happy with a chapter then I will not put it up. I'm the author, shouldn't I be happy with my work? Yes, so if I'm not happy, it ain't going up. There, I said it. I needed to get it out. I will never put up a chapter that I don't like.**

**So, what's the point on asking you guys to review if more than half of you aren't going to anyway?**

**(off screen and annoyed, yelling out the window) "JUST REVIEW PEOPLE, IT TAKES FREAKING TEN SECONDS!"**

**I'm back. Bye.**

**Hope you liked this chapter and a question: Do any of you actually read my little quotes that I put up? Sometimes they have to do with the story and sometimes they don't. If you think about the chapter and a certain quote then you'll see they'll be tied somehow. **

**Faith is stepping out on nothing….and landing on something.- Unknown**


	4. Chapter 4: A bat's search for trust

**Stupid Disclaimer: It hasn't changed since the last update. **

**It's been two months since the accident and people are just starting to hear about Wayne and his ward. And, I do not know who runs the Daily Planet so I'm making up a name.**

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**Chapter 4: **

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Clark Kent walked up into the Daily Planet onto his floor.

He held his coffee in one hand and his briefcase in another. His light grey-brown suit was nice and clean and the matching jacket had nothing but one single dust speck on it. He had woken up to the sun shining in Metropolis and a few birds chirping. He greeted everyone that he passed on the street, deciding to walk today. The gorgeous weather often brought that out in him. He was in a good mood but somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew it was going to be ruined.

"Hey Lois," he said and smiled to the black haired lady. Lois looked up from her computer and gave a brief smile in Clark's direction. "Hey, Clark. Hey, Mitchell, di you have the Wayne adoption thing, or was I supposed to do that?" Lois turned to face a brown haired and brown eyes, big glasses clad man. Mitchell looked up and Clark froze. Wayne? Adoption?

"Huh? Oh, no it's not adoption. He just took in a ward, that kid? You know? The one-"

"Mitchell! One of us was supposed to write it! Front page!" Lois jumped up and Mitchell swallowed and leaned back in his seat. Lois looked peeved and she seemed ready to exploe but then the chief came out, "-get that paper now! Lois, you have the Wayne one? Front Page!" The boss, Harvey Johnson, stalked out, screaming and ordering for things to get done. Lois blinked and whirled around, slipping into her chair s fast it would have rivaled the Flash, and ferociously began typing on the computer. Johnson groaned and then looked at Clark, still frozen buy Lois's desk by the news. There went his good day.

"Kent! What are you doing just standing there! Get back to work!"

Clark looked up, surprised for a moment. "Uh, Mr. Johnson, I need to make a call…" his voice faded and he opened the door, rushing out and flipping his phone up.

"Kent! KENT! Get back here right now!"

Clark quickly walked out and dialed Bruce's number, hoping he heard all of that wrong.

"Hello? Bruce Wayne speaking," Bruce's voice came from the phone. He sounded… happy almost it sounded. Np, not happy, it just wasnt the usual gruff voice and monotone he spoke in. "Bruce, what's this about a ward?" Clark stepped out onto the street and stepped into an alley. He leaned against the wall and ran his hand through his hair. Bruce didn't reply for a few moments and Clark scowled, he really didn't need Mr. Silent right now.

"Bruce-"

"Yes, I have a ward." Bruce said, finally speaking and interrupting him. Clark almost groaned and he shook his head. Was something wrong with Bruce? Something had to be. A _ward_! He was Batman! He couldn't take a ward! Bruce, sensing his obvious disapproval even through the phone, smirked on the other end of the line. Good, at least he annoyed Clark today. One thing off his To-Do list. "A you crazy Bruce! How could you take a ward in? Who is it?"

"Richard Grayson."

Clark froze and then straightened in understanding, "Oh. _Oh._" He frowned and then looked around, a few people gave him strange looks but they kept on walking. Clark looked down at his shoes and then up again. Clark frowned and turned away, facing his body down the alleyway he stood in.

"We'll talk about this later." Clark said and snapped his phone shut.

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"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce looked down and was greeted with healing blue eyes. He was getting better and after that week when he comforted him after the nightmares they were getting, only slightly, closer. Richard still called him Mr. Wayne and he wouldn't budge from it and he would still avoid him but when the nightmares came Bruce would come in and comfort him. So far, that was as far as he and the boy had gotten.

Bruce knew Richard didn't trust him, or Alfred much to Bruce's surprise, and that would keep the boy from coming closer. But, then again, he was younger so he would trust him faster than an eight year old. Any child older than that would normally despise their adoptive parents(s), or siply strongly dislike them, perhaps even blaming them for what was wrong. But, as he was young, he would be more trusting. Or, at least, that was what Bruce thought. Richard would get a panicked, slightly scared and nervous look on his face when Bruce would attempt to talk with him and he would scoot away uncomfortably, shifting under the man's worried gaze.

"Yes, Richard?" Bruce asked, leaning down, slightly. Richard was out in the gardens when he found him. Bruce had stayed with him and Richard was simply gliding through the gardens, staring at the flowers as if there were no tomorrow. Roses, Lilacs, Wisteria and lilies. He would sniff them and finger them, twisting the flower around in his fingers to get a good look. Alfred and the gardeners (that came once a month) made it gorgeous in the summer and spring.

"What's your favorite animal?" He asked. Bruce paused a moment, faltering in his step. Why would Richard as that? They knew so little about each other and that's what kept them from coming closer. Maybe this was a start. Bruce smiled to himself.

"I like a bat, what's yours?"

"Robin."

"That is interesting. Why?"

Richard hesitated a moment but then froze altogether. "Why do you like a bat?" Now it was Bruce's turn to freeze. He never actually thought an answer to the question. And, truthfully, he had answered the question without a second thought, he hadn't thought about it. Maybe his trust toward the boy was stronger than the boy's trust to his. But why didn't Richard answer his question about why he liked robins? Bruce looked down at the boy and sighed, he was such a paradox.

"I don't really know."

"Okay, what's your favorite color?"

"Black."

"Why?"

Again with the why. Bruce sighed and looked away. "It's… a nice color." He said this absentmindedly, as he was thinking forward to the talk with Clark. In all honesty, he was worried about what Clark say. He didn't want to deal with the 'Your Batman!' crap, really. Bruce scowled and shook his head. Frankly, the thought of not showing up was firmly planted in his head.

"Mr. Wayne?" Richard's small voice broke through his thoughts and Bruce looked down at him. The boy's sad and depressed eyes thoroughly saddend Bruce.

"Yes?"

"Why did you take me in?"

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Clark sat at the table, waiting.

Honestly, he hadn't expected Bruce to show. Or even answer if Clark called him. Heck, he doubted it if Bruce would even let Alfred answer.

"Mr.? Would you like to order something?" A voice said to the right of Clark. He looked up from his writing to see a waitress, standing there looking rather bored. "Uh, no, thank you. I'm waiting on someone." Clark replied, looking over at her and sending a smile. She nodded and walked off to serve someone else.

Clark shook his head and turned back to his work. A ward. What was Bruce thinking? He heard the ding of the bell from the door but didn't turn around.

And then, of course, Bruce had to slid into the seat across from him. Clark looked up, slightly irritated that he hadn't even heard the man walked up to him. "Bruce…and…"

Clark looked down and saw a six year old boy, so it was true. The boy was sitting against the booth seat in a black jacket and blue jeans. His black hair was shaggy in his face and his blue eyes stared dead ahead of him.

"Clark, meet Richard, my… ward." Bruce said and looked away at the word ward. Clark blinked. He hadn't gotten a good look of him before. He looked bad now, Clark couldn't imagine how he was that night and even worse the day after. Right now, he stared ahead with dead, lonely eyes. Bruce looked down and smiled. _Smiled. _

"Say hi to Mr. Kent, Richard," he said. Richard looked up and smiled at Clark.

"Hi."

Clark nodded and smiled warmly at the boy. "Hi, Richard. How do you like living with Bruce?"

Bruce shot Clark an irritated look.

Richard looked up and nodded, only giving him half of a glance, his thoughts else where. "It's okay," he replied and his head hung again. Clark nodded and gave Bruce a look. The man was looking away, frowning all the while. Clark instantly regretted asking the question to the boy. Richard didn't seem to want to look at Bruce and probably living with him didn't make it any better. He... didn't feel comfortable. But when Bruce looked down at the boy and the edges of his mouth twitched upward as the boy smiled slightly at something in his thoughts; Clark knew that Bruce cared for the boy, the kryptonian could see in it in the humans eyes.

"Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"We need to talk."

"We are talking?"

Clark scowled and shook his head. Of course he would say that. "You know what I mean. Why? Why did you do it?" Bruce frowned and looked out the window at Metropolis. He didn't reply for a few minutes, and Clark frowned. Nothing, Bruce still didn't say anything for a few more minutes. Richard was playing with a Rubix Cube on the table. He had pulled it out of his jacket pocket and seemed to be enjoying himself. His brow was furrowed and his chin was on the table as his narrow eyes studied the cube restlessly.

"He asked that too," Bruce whispered, still looking at the window as if he hadn't said anything, under his breath. For a moment, Clark wondered why he hadn't said it aloud. Then, of course he didn't want Richard to hear. He didn't want to hear Bruce's answer, Bruce didn't want to worry him or… offend him… or something. Clark frowned at these thoughts.

The boy, Richard, asked the same thing?

Clark glanced at the six year old. He was smart, this could easily be told, and was fumbling, his fingers flying, across the Rubix Cube. He slid one side over, frowned and moved it the other way, not pleased. Clark chuckled, he could never figure those dang things out.

Honestly, Bruce seemed duped.

Well, not about the Rubix Cube but about the boy in general. He obviously cared for him but felt uncomfortable. The boy said very little to nothing and apparently called him Mr. Wayne when he did talk. Clark chuckled, Bruce probably didn't like that.

"Well-"

"Do you wanna or-dah now?" The waitress said, once again by his table. Clark and Bruce both looked up, as did Richard but when he saw the girl he found it uninteresting and he looked back down at his Rubix cube. Bruce chuckled and then looked up at the waitress, smiling kindly. "Yes, a coffee please. Caffeinated and an orange juice for him."

She nodded and wrote it down.

"Same here," Clark said, nodding in her direction. She nodded and looked down at Richard, who was completely ignoring her. None of the adults moved as they watched his nimble, tan fingers run over the cube. He moved them around quickly, sometimes even looking up at the ceiling in thought, still moving the little squares around.

And then, he was done. He placed it on the table and looked up at Bruce. "Done," he whispered softly and then stared at it, smiling. Bruce grinned and nodded, looking down at it. Clark stared at in shock and then his gaze flickered to the boy; amazing. The waitress snapped out of it and nodded, slipping her paper pad into her apron pocket.

"I see that. Nice job," commented Bruce, picking it up and inspecting it. His index finger taped against the blue side. He frowned and put it back down on the table. Richard smiled a bit and picked it back up, messing it back up and then completely returning it back to the finished product. He smiled again, nodding his head as if this confirmed it was officially finished, and set it back on the table just as the waitress came with the drinks.

She set the orange juice in front of Richard with a piece of paper and a few crayons. He looked up at her and smiled. She nodded back curtly and placed the coffee in front of the adults. "Here," she muttered, placing the bill in front of Clark and walking away with a quick glance and smile toward Richard, who seemed to be contemplating what to draw. "Why don't you draw… a robin?" Bruce asked, leaning over suddenly toward the boy, whispering in his ears. Clark blinked, as did Richard.

The boy looked up, surprised, and then down at the paper, his features softening. He nodded and picked up a black crayon, staring down at the white piece of paper and smiled a bit, beginning to draw the back part of the birds head. He moved the crayon gracefully down the paper until he had the tail feathers. Clark smiled and then looked up at Bruce.

"Fine. If something happens… I still don't like this," Clark said and then stood up, putting down three fives on the bill paper and picking his coffee up. He nodded toward Bruce and then paused for a moment, looking down at Richard.

And then he left.

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Bruce walked toward the library, where he heard Alfred and Richard talking. He didn't enter, however, as he wanted to hear his voice.

"I don't know, Alfred." Richard was saying, seeming to be thinking about something. He spoke, for a six year old, with such eloquence and a calmness that would have rivaled Thomas Jefferson. He was smart. So much potential. Bruce smiled to himself, he really had come to care for him. Honestly. He hadn't realized this before, a few weeks ago, but he genuinely cared for him. He wanted to talk to him, to get to know Richard. Bruce wanted to talk to him.

But he kept pulling away, kept turning from him, seeking refuge from the storm called his life elsewhere. He searched out books, pictures, nature, even Alfred. Anything to get away from the man he had been taken in by. The stranger, the stranger who seemed to be trying to replace his parents. The relationship between the two could only be considered to be getting worse.

A pursuer was pursing something that didn't want to be pursed. Something that just needed time to be healed. But in order to be healed, one had to have a healer.

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Bruce slowly rubbed his temples, slightly annoyed with his secretary.

"Mr. Bruce, a man is here to see you," she would say as cheerfully as she could, and Bruce had thought she did it just to annoy him.

"What's his name?"

"He says his name is Mr. Dubois," Mary Allen replied, cheerful as ever. Bruce scowled, honestly, even Flash wasn't this cheerful when he was hyped on coffee. Annoying, yes, but cheerful? Not really. Bruce didn't reply at first. He knew not any Mr. Dubois, but maybe he was a business associate of another company. No, he wasn't meeting with anybody that he knew of.

"What's he here for?"

Mrs. Allen didn't reply for a few minutes and Bruce actually forgotten she was on the other end of the line. He went back to shifting through paperwork, Classified and Declassified Wayne Tech documents clouded his vision as he worked, filling his mind with words and diagrams.

"So… if this was- Yes, Mrs. Allen?" he asked, slightly exasperated as her voice rang from the comm. line.

"He left sir, grumbling. But you do have a call, sir."

"Where from?" He sounded more tired now than annoyed but she didn't notice. "Wayne Manor, sir."

Bruce blinked. What did Alfred need now? Not that Bruce wanted to sound annoyed with Alfred, but he didn't really want to be disturbed. He needed to work, that was final.

"Put me in," Bruce sighed, shaking his head. Hopefully, it would be a short exchange. "Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice sounded through the comm.. Bruce sighed and looked out the window down at Gotham City, watching the people pass by.

"Yes?"

"It's Master Richard."

Bruce sat up now, fully alert. Whatever it was, Alfred seemed nervous. Bruce could here it in his voice. Normally, Alfred could handle most things, so refraining to Bruce it must've been bad. Whatever was wrong with Richard was bothering Alfred, and now Bruce. Maybe a nightmare, or perhaps he had done something, fallen down the stairs and broken his arm or had a concussion. All of these things ran through his mind in a flash.

"What? What's wrong?"

"It seems I can't find him, Master Bruce."

"You mean he's lost?"

"Or hiding."

Bruce frowned, Richard should have no reason to be lost. Bruce often caught him wandering the manor, looking around and inspecting rooms. So, maybe he was hiding. He was finding a place of refuge. Bruce frowned, something wasn't right. Well, obviously, Richard seemed to be hiding but that he was hiding, from Alfred. It seemed Alfred was more closer to the boy than Bruce. So, why would he run from Alfred?

"I'm on my way. Mrs. Allen, please get off the line," he growled and he heard a beep. Alfred sighed deeply and then left, another beep following the first. Bruce stood up and quickly gathered up all the documents and files and placed them in his briefcase. He shook his head, quickly lapsing the locks on the case and rushing from his office, which was much to big for one man.

He zipped past Mrs. Allen, who looked up from the laptop and smiled way to big. He ignored her and walked past.

The news of him having a ward had been taken way to seriously in the last five and a half weeks. People were still making a big deal about it. Newspapers were writing about it, calling it a simple publicity ticket. Bruce had gritted his teeth at that. Did they think he was some cruel man; taking a child in and then disposing of him just for publicity? Alfred had shaken his head at that thought, muttering under his breath. Richard, who had seen the article on the newspaper that was talking about it. It had bothered him and he asked Bruce if that was what it was, just something to make him more popular among Gotham City and America. Somehow, this disgusted Bruce more then the Joker. How people culd think so low of him was beyond his thoughts. Well, no, the weren't actually. He knew that his playboy image wouldn't be good and taking in a ward wouldn't be good either, but... he had too. He couldn't let that young boy turn out like him. Bitter and hurt. But the news article had freake Richard out, the thought of going to the Tuvenile Center completely scared him.

Bruce had completely freaked out over the whole thing and Richard was sent to bed early by Alfred. More nightmares that night, and he'd caused them.

There was a charity event in a few days, and Bruce was going to take Richard to it. Wayne Tech was funding a few Gotham City orphanages and a few elsewhere as well.

Bruce, who had completely spaced out, was now at his car, keys were instinctively in hand. He looked down and shook his head, putting the key into the car. He opened the door and slipped inside, closing the door behind him and starting the engine.

Heading home.

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"Richard?" Bruce yelled, looking around.

It was about twelve at night and they were still looking for the boy. Alfred and he had yet to find him. He had been missing since One O'Clock in the afternoon, he had missed dinner and was now missing out on sleep. Unless, of course, he had already fallen asleep and that explained why they hadn't found him yet.

"Master Bruce, I have searched the third and fourth level for him twice. He is not there. Have you looked in the gardens?"

Bruce frowned. "Yes, I have."

Alfred frowned and looked at the picture of the Greek Agora. Bruce couldn't think of where he may be. They searched just about every part of the manor, except the Batcave… unless.

"Alfred, the Batcave. Come on!"

He turned and sprinted off toward the small library, where the grandfather clock was. The small library! They didn't check there! Bruce knew it! When he came to the door and slowly opened it, he paused when he saw Richard, staring out the window.

Richard was on his knees, his hands between his legs. The moonlight shone on him directly from the window, his ebony hair having a now eerie effect. His blue eyes were a more crystal clear blue and his tan skin was almost glowing in the pale light. His face glistened with tears coming from his eyes. He stared up at the moon, not moving, breathing calmly and softly. Bruce didn't move and neither did Alfred, who had come up behind Bruce.

"Richard?" Bruce finally asked. Richard jumped slightly and turned, wide eyed, toward the two older men. They stared at each other for a few moments.

Bruce moved forward, and got down on his knees next to him, looking up at the moon.

"Richard," he said.

"Bruce," Richard replied back with. Bruce looked down, surprise. This had been the only time he voluntarily called him 'Bruce'. Richard wasn't looking at him now and was staring back at the moon. He looked almost like a ghost, so peaceful and quiet. "Bruce? You can call me Dick, it's my nickname. I'll call you Bruce," he explained. Bruce nodded and stared straight up at the moon.

"Alright, Dick."

It was silent for a little more while until Rich, no, Dick whimpered. "I miss them. Mommy always used to look up at the moon, she said it was like a pearl. I miss her… and daddy," he whispered, his tears flowing like the little rivers of life that streamed down the windows of the limo that day. They hadn't reached the end of that waterfall but, suddenly, Bruce could feel they were getting closer to the end.

"You know what, Dick?"

There was no reply but silent sniffles.

"I miss mine too. I lost my parents, like you did, when I was younger. I had to watch too, just like you. We're alike Dick, just a bit. I miss them too," he whispered back, just staring at the moon like the young boy next to him. He felt eyes on him and he looked down, Dick staring at him with wide, tear bearing eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Just like me?"

"Just like you."

It was silent and they just stared at the moon.

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**I had to put a Bruce/Dick scene in. I think they'll really begin to click in the next two chapters, which will be a part 1 and a part 2. I felt like it was time for a bit of them, and besides, Bruce just needed away to find away to comfort him. And don't worry, Dick is still wary of him but trust is starting to wriggle its way to the two. It'll take a while but it'll happen soon. But, they did, however, slowly develop in this chapter more. **

**I am glad you guys are liking this story and thanks a bunch for reviewing and reading the quotes. Question: So far, which quote has been your favorite? **

**Wolfram003: Thank you! A bunch! **

**And thanks to those who are reading 'A Look' and such for reading this as well, I really appreciate it. I updated because I was excited about this but then, now, Tuesday I won't be able to update. There's always a catch, isn't there. **

**Review! **


	5. Chapter 5: Robin is lifting off

**Disclaimer: It still hasn't changed… this would be an episode if it had, really. **

**There is a poll on my profile and if you want Dick to have an awesome b-day, I'd vote on it. **

**September 2nd, 2004 Five months and a day since the incident… **

_**Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.- Bible**_

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**Chapter 5: **

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Dick looked around his room.

It was night time right now and it was dark. Not even the pearly moon was out tonight, shining with all it's wondrous glory on Gotham City. He sat up in his bed, looking down at the empty space to his right; the space Peanut would normally fill right up. He sighed and looked around the room.

Why did it have to be so big? He tried to make it feel homey by filling it up but the space was just to large. He always felt uncomfortable in the manor. He only felt… safe; in that one room with the grandfather clock, the one where he had stared up at the moon because it reminded him of his mother… and it was the only place really to get the best look.

Bruce had told him about a charity event that he and himself had to go to. Honestly, Dick didn't want to go. He didn't want to be near people, he had gotten so used to the quiet life of the manor that being surrounded by people didn't appeal to him. Sure, at the circus he had been around people, but they had been at bay and not asking him a billion questions, as Alfred said the people at the event would. Those people at the circus would take pictures too, but not close up like he saw from TV, when the reporters asked these people questions and got all up in their face.

He sighed, no he didn't want to go to the event. Not that he had much of a choice anyway. Alfred had already bought him a fancy suit that was laid nicely across his desk chair. Dick's eyes wandered over to it and he glared at it disgustfully. When the butler made him try it one, he felt so restrained like his freedom had been taken from him. He wanted to fly again, to be free and glide through the air like his mother's little robin.

He whimpered and wiped the forming tears from his eyes. He didn't want to wake Bruce or Alfred by crying. He didn't want to upset them. Sure, he didn't trust them; he was still wary with them, pulling away when he got to close. He felt like he was replacing his parent's when he did get closer with Bruce, not so much Alfred, but he didn't want to fit here. Dick wanted to return to the circus, to go back to his happy life full of love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, the faithfulness of family… he wanted that back. Bruce was to quiet, he was never around, he didn't really show that he cared much and his eyes were dark and silent… not what Dick was used to too. Dick wasn't used to quietness, or, at least he hadn't been used to it. He was now, even welcome it now. He didn't mind it now. It made things easier. He didn't want to talk to Bruce, honestly, he really didn't even like the man. He never talked, never laughed and only ever rarely smiled. He wanted to smile.

Laughter too.

He wanted to laugh out, to smile, to experience joy but he couldn't. He seemed to have lost his ability.

Like the robin's wings were clipped. And his joy was gone.

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Batman leaned out just a bit further.

He was perched on top of Wayne Tech, looking down at the quiet, dark city. The dark knight shook his head and turned toward the west, where Wayne Manor was situated. He pulled up his binoculars to his eyes and zoomed in farther, in the direction of Dick's room. He didn't mean to spy on the boy but he was curious and honestly, he had nothing better to do. Gotham's villans and thugs had apparently decided to take a break tonight, leaving the Batman to do nothing but jump from roof to roof and sit on top of a building and stare down at the city and leave him to his thoughts. Honestly, he was almost hoping for someone to rob a bank.

_"Bruce? You can call me Dick. It's my nickname. I'll call you Bruce." _Dick had said to him, his voice had been quiet and soft, but firm. Batman smiled a bit, they were getting, only slightly, closer but it had been a small start.

Dick was sitting up in his bed, staring out the window, almost seeming that he was looking straight at the dark knight. The boy his hand up to his eyes and rubbed there, brushing away the tears from them. He looked around his room and let out a deep sigh; Batman felt as if he could almost here it. He sighed himself and turned away, feeling guilty that he couldn't be there to comfort the boy. He put the binoculars back in his utility belt and grabbed his grappling hook, sending one last glance in the direction of Wayne Manor before shooting the hook out and swinging from the building.

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"Hello, Alfred." Dick whispered, rubbing his eyes as he came into the kitchen.

Alfred looked down from the beacon and French toast and smiled warmly. "Hello, Master Dick. How did you sleep?" he asked cheerfully, flipping the toast in the skillet. Dick made his way to the counter and stared down at the plate left out for him. He glanced sideways to the right, hoping but yet not, to see a plate for Bruce there. He always felt weird when Bruce did end up sitting there because they never talked. It was awkward and generally Bruce would just read the paper while Dick ate his food as fast as he could to get out.

"Fine, Alfred, thanks. You?"

"Well, Sir."

"That's good. Thanks for making the food, Alfred," Dick muttered and stared down at the French toast in front of him with a side of beacon. He reached out for the syrup and when his small hands found it he gripped it tightly, as he always did now; almost as to make up for not gripping his mothers hand. He froze there for a moment, thinking this, and then poured it on top. Alfred was cleaning the kitchen when Bruce did, however, walk in. He nodded toward Dick and then turned away, toward the butler.

Dick sunk even lower into his chair.

Bruce whispered silently to the butler and then walked off, Alfred trailing behind him. Dick looked down at his food, which was half-eaten, and then looked up to where the two men had disappeared. He sighed. Left alone again.

He suddenly hoped down from his chair and ran in a random direction and soon enough, he heard voices. Bruce and Alfred were talking, more loudly now, and were in the grandfather clock room. He ran up the stairs and ran in the direction of the room, his footsteps much to light for them to echo.

"-don't know. There's no lead." Bruce was saying, shaking his head. Dick stared at the two men from the hiding spot he so conveniently found. He was behind a tapestry of a man in a suit of armor, not that Dick cared, and he just put his head out enough to only show his blue eyes. Bruce was facing away from him, sitting in the velvet red chair and Alfred was standing so that if he looked up, he would see only the young boy's eyes. Dick smiled to himself, just a small smile.

He would hide like Batman.

Dick smirked to himself, the type of mischievous smirk that made you stop and carefully watch the boy for trouble. He and Alfred often watched the news when they caught Batman fighting someone. Two-Face, the horrible villain, had escaped not but a few nights ago and Batman was fighting him at a warehouse. The police showed up and surrounded the building and Gotham's news teams and reporters had shown up. Dick had watched, silently routing for Batman to overcome the insane villain.

Not that he doubted him.

Alfred always seemed a little more than worried but Dick would brush it off as just him being an old man.

And sure, Batman was cool but so was Superman. Superman had powers but Batman didn't; so, couldn't that mean anyone could be a hero like Batman? If he, whoever the man was, was one; couldn't anyone else? Dick could very much easily flip over buildings with hardly a sweat, he could do what Batman could do. Maybe he could become Batman's partner!

Dick shook his head at the thought, not realizing that Alfred caught the movement and looked up, that could never happen. He would never become Batman's partner. Besides, the man was problem just on of Gotham's average, if anything.

"Master Richard, what do you think you are doing?"

Dick's head snapped up and his eyes widened. Both Bruce and Alfred were staring at him. Bruce's arm's were crossed over his chest disapprovingly and his eyes looked tired. His face was constructed seriously and seemed to be hoping that Dick didn't hear anything he said. He stood now, straight and tall; the air to him one of impatience and tiredness and a simple disapproving glare settled in his brown eyes. Alfred looked no less disappointed and he shook his head slightly, showing he also disapproved. Dick couldn't help it! Maybe, had they not been so secretive, he wouldn't have followed them!

Dick shrunk back and turned suddenly, running out the opposite end of the tapestry. He dashed back to the kitchen, knowing perfectly well that running would only make the situation worse. He dashed down, doing a tuck jump down the staircase, landing lightly on his feet with a muted thump and then dashing back into the kitchen.

Once he had returned to his respectful place in the kitchen, in his chair, he began to gobble down food as if he had never left. A few moments later, Alfred and Bruce's footsteps echoed back down in the hall. Alfred appeared first and stopped once had came to the door, one eyebrow raised as he looked at Dick. Bruce came up behind him but now the disapproving looked was gone and a humorous one in it's place. He had a small smile on his face, obviously amused and his arms were still crossed, but were more relaxed.

Dick looked up at them nodded and then back down at his food, which was practically gone now.

From his mission he hadn't found anything but Bruce was looking for something. _No leads, _he'd said. Whatever that meant, it greatly upset him.

"Master Richard, would you care to tell us why you were eavesdropping?" Alfred voiced, coming into the kitchen fully and standing a few feet away from the small ebony haired boy. Dick took a moment to think and then shook his head.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said and then stuffed a piece of beacon in his mouth, finishing the plate and cleaning it nicely.

Alfred's brows shot up and Bruce's smile became a bit more pronounced. Obviously, all anger about the fact that Dick had in fact been eavesdropping on him had washed away. Alfred sighed and looked at Bruce for help, but Bruce didn't seem to want to help. Dick smile a small smile and jumped down from his chair, plate and hand, and put it by the sink.

"I'm going to go out. Bye."

And he ran from the room.

Alfred looked at Bruce, who was watching the boys retreating figure. "You know who he reminds me off, Master Bruce?" The butler voice, waling over to the sink with a sigh and taking the plate and turning on the water. Bruce looked over, surprised that he had been spoken too. "Is that a rhetorical question?" Alfred chuckled and turned toward the younger man, a twinkle in his eyes.

"He reminds me of you, Master Bruce."

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Dick walked through the more abandoned part of the manor. A lot of the furniture was covered up with white sheets. It was dark and the grey sunlight from before didn't help create the effect of a nice house or manor. It seemed dark and scary, like a haunted mansion and Dick certainly didn't like it at all. When he had left from the kitchen he had just wandered a bit, not really paying attention to where he was walking and apparently end up going down two flights of stairs, down a few hallways and in an out of a few rooms that had more than one door.

And now he was lost, trying to find his way back.

At first he tried to retrace his steps but after spinning around a few times he couldn't remember which way he came. And then after deciding that he should just go to his right he became even more confused and lost. He whimpered as he came to another room filled with the covered furniture and closed curtains.

He was scared. He wanted his mother, his father, Peanut (he would remember where they had come from!), he wanted to be home. Not in this big house where he didn't know where everything was. He wanted the trailer, where he could always find what he wanted. He wanted to be _home_. This wasn't home, this wasn't his.

This was just a temporary stop that he didn't need or want. A stop that might just take a while. Dick knew he'd be here long. He had figured that out once he came here. Once he realized that life decided he needed a change that he didn't want to have, a change that effected his whole world.

A change that taxed him of his greatest things. They bled him dry, taking everything from. Everything that mattered to him.

Thinking of this, Dick bit back tears. Yeah, it had been five months but the thought, the picture, the nightmares of his parents haunted him. He could still remember his mother's laugh or his fathers voice, but barely. Was it high pitched? Was it low? The small things he couldn't remember, what has his father's hand felt like when he rubbed his head? What had his mother's laugh sounded like? Honestly, he couldn't remember. He felt that Bruce was pushing his way in. Dick didn't want that. He didn't want someone to replace his parents. No one could. No one else could protect him, could replace them, could work their way into him. He wouldn't let them.

Dick froze at this new revelation, closing his eyes for a second before regaining himself and surging forward. He would find his way out of here.

How hard could it be? Dick stopped and looked at the oak desk he just passed. Half of it was mostly covered by a white sheet but it seemed familiar. Dick smirked a bit, knowing that he had seen it before. He walked forward and took a right, walking down a hall and then a left. He had seen that picture before.

He turned left. Then walked down, his face set and determined. Then he found the second staircase. Dick smiled and dashed up the stairs, knowing immediately where to go. He dashed up the first staircase and down another hall, turning left and then came to the foyer. Dick breathed heavily and looked around and smiled.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Bruce looked around the private study and sighed, laying his head in his hands.

He hadn't been helping the boy. He had soon realized that Dick was pushing him away because he was pulling to hard. He was trying to get Dick to recover to fast for him to handle. He was trying to do something that wasn't welcome; Bruce hadn't realized this, but he had been trying to replace them. He had been trying to replace Dick's parents. Alfred had known just what to do, but even then Bruce pushed him away. He wanted to be alone, wanted to catch the killer; who had never been caught. He pushed everyone and everything away, coming to the decision that he needed to help the god forsaken city.

And so he did.

By becoming Batman.

He was bitter and often felt uncomfortable displaying any other emotion other than… nothing, actually. Bruce didn't want that for Dick, didn't want him to become bitter. But Dick was pushing him away, just like Bruce himself had pushed Alfred away. He was becoming more like Bruce probably than he wanted.

Bruce sighed and spun around in his chair.

He hadn't seen Dick since breakfast. No, he wasn't worried. He would be, however, in one hour. He knew Dick had explored, having nothing else to do, but he hadn't gone down to the lowest levels. And hopefully not the lowest lowest level. But, he trusted Dick to be smart enough to find his way out. And it wasn't like it was a labyrinth. Well, not really anyway.

He sighed and shook his head.

No, he wasn't helping Dick. He thought he was, but in all honesty; he wasn't. It seemed he was making it worse by trying to pull him out of his sad, almost depressed state. Dick must have felt like Bruce was trying to replace his parents. But, Bruce wasn't… or, he wasn't trying to.

He sighed and looked over at the door. Alfred had entered, a silver tray in hand with a cup of tea stationed on it. "Master Bruce, the even is in three hours. I believe you should begin to prepare and find Master Richard."

Bruce looked up and nodded. "Yes, uh, of course," he stood up and stepped out from behind his desk. "Do you, eh, even know he _is_?" Bruce asked the butler, frowning. This was Dick's first event and certainly not his last. Bruce hated these events, he had to act like some rich, spineless fool. He had to act like a hungry animal. Honestly, it was most likely not the life that his parents had wanted for him. Certainly not the life had had wanted for himself. But, it kept him off suspicion of being Batman.

"No, I have not seen him. Do you-"

"Alfred! I got lost!" Dick's voice rang through the study as his head popped up from behind the door. His blue eyes seemed tinted red and he looked slightly afraid but glad off something. Completely ignoring Bruce, he went on.

"But I found my way out," He grinned slightly, certainly nothing like the day Bruce had first met him but a grin none-the-less. He looked at Alfred who nodded and then at Bruce… his grin faded and his eyes hardened. Bruce winced inwardly. Alfred, noticing the tension, stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Master Richard, you must prepare for the event tonight-"

Dick's nose scrunched up in distaste.

Bruce now chuckled inwardly and Alfred sighed.

"-it would be most fitting."

"Fine," voiced Dick and he slipped away. Alfred looked back at Bruce and then disappeared out the door with the boy. Bruce followed out, heading toward his room.

Dick began to change into his suit with the help of Alfred. His hair was gelled back, much to his dislike, and the bow was far to tight for his liking. His blue eyes were no longer red and puffy with tears and had returned to their light, carefree azure-icy blue. Swirls of navy were mixed him, causing a paradox of thought from them. He wore a nice suit and a black bow tie and, overall, he looked quite handsome. Alfred was sure that if his mother could see him, she would be proud.

Bruce came to the door and smiled shyly when he saw Dick. Dick looked away, embarrassed and tugged at the cuff of his sleeves and shirt collar. Alfred chuckled.

"Come on Dick, everyone is waiting," Bruce said and gestured for Dick to follow him. Dick nodded and walked over, staring down at the ground. He followed the older man out of the room and down two flights of stairs. On the last one Bruce gave him one last look and smiled nervously.

Dick didn't look up.

And then they descended down unto the crowd of donators, reporters, and Gotham's finest.

* * *

_Sneak Peek of Chapter 6: _

_The five reporters and photographers surrounded Dick, firing off questions that no one person could possibly understand. The ballroom was so full of people's voice, music, shoes, waiters and waitresses that no one paid attention to the small group of people that seemed to be surrounding the small boy. Bruce had long since disappeared and Dick felt slightly betrayed when this happened. Sure, he didn't really like or trust Bruce but he did live with the man. He did occasionally talk to him. _

_But, as these people surrounded him, he didn't think of Alfred. Or, actually, of his mother. The first person to come to mind was: _

_Bruce. _

_End of sneak peek. _

* * *

_End of part I... _

* * *

**Well then. **

**I had this amazing idea to write… but I have three stories and a fourth just won't work. **

**There is a poll on my profile and if Dick should have a good b-day, then vote. If any suggestions for a present, PM. If no account, put it in your review. This chapter was shorter, but Part II should be good and longer! **

**Review! **

**Question: What has been your favorite scene in this fic? Why? And could you possibly draw it? :) **

_**You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life  
**_**- Winston Churchill**

_**Everyday is a gift, that's why they call it the present.**_


	6. Chapter 6: Robin's heart

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine… Ha. I wish… **

**Don't forget about the poll! **

**And thank you to the THREE PEOPLE WHO REVIEWED! Your reviews were greatly appreciated. T.T **

**Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience.  
- Victoria Holt**

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

* * *

The moment that the lights from the foyer and open ballroom doors hit him, Dick was bombarded with questions. People didn't rush forward like hungry animals though. Which the small boy liked; he didn't need a swarm of people after him. They were shooting off questions faster than thought possible, heck; faster than the Flash!

"-do you like living with Mr. Wayne?"

"-how do you feel about-"

"-did you do after-"

"-what's it like-"

"-miss anything-"

"-you miss your parents?"

Almost everyone froze at this last question, surprised someone would ask such a question. The man who said it began to slip away, but the few reporters around him didn't let him move, pulling their circle in tighter. Even they knew he had crossed the line, well… crossed the line even more already. Mostly the line was just a small obstacle you conscience nagged you about. Dick looked up, tears in his eyes. Why did someone ask him that? Why bring out the pain he had been trying to subdue! The small ebony haired boy looked down and he felt Bruce's hand on his shoulder, guiding him down the rest of the staircase. Once Dick was situated at the bottom, he walked up to deal with the reporter.

Dick didn't move, he just stood there. Reporters around him twitched as they saw him, their nerves begging them to just walk over and ask a few questions. But after that little fiasco, even they didn't do anything. People, Gotham's finest, did walk a little closer, doing it quite conspicuously. Women in red, silk dresses and high stilettos and men in nicely ironed tuxedos eyed him with narrowed, disappointed eyes.

Sure, he was 'cute' but he came from the low-life. The _circus_. Such a thing, horrendous in their eyes, would not be passed over easily with their watchful, scorning eyes.

Dick had shifted a bit and, moving away from the stairs (he lost Bruce when the people began to come closer), he looked at the people around him. The ladies' were beautiful with flawless skin and silky hair. They didn't compare to his mother, however. The man looked nice but didn't look like that had lifted a finger to do anything but order people around. They didn't compare to his father either.

"I don't know Agnes, he's kinda cute."

Dick looked up, hearing one lady say something to another. She had red hair and dark brown eyes and a tan cocktail dress. She held a champagne glass in her hand and a cigarette in another. He looked away when she caught him staring.

"I suppose, but the kid… well, didn't you hear? He's from the _circus_!" The second lady, Agnes, exclaimed; forming the word to her mouth in distaste. The first lady laughed, it sounded coarse… nothing like the bells of his mothers laugh. Dick shifted uncomfortably and looked up at the looming chandelier above his head, wishing it would crash down as a distraction.

"Yes, I did. Apparently his parents' died in their trapeze act, he watched. I feel sort of sad…" she said, her voice conveying something that sounded like pity, but one couldn't tell if it was mock pity or true pity. Agnes looked horrified when she heard this and looked down at the boy, who was still listening to the conversation.

They knew this, yet didn't truly acknowledge this.

"I guess I do to Marlene… he watched? A trapeze act, isn't that with the ropes and stuff? They fell? Ouch."

Marlene laughed and nodded. "Yes, they fell-" she said and then looked over, seeing the small boy with tears in his eyes. For some reason, an unknown emotion washed through her and she glanced away. "-come on, let's go over to Caroline Osborne, heard she's here with her husband," she glanced one more time at the boy and then grabbed Agnes's hand, pulling the confused lady away.

Dick looked down. He didn't want pity. Didn't need it. Shouldn't have it. Wouldn't have it. No, he wouldn't. People kept looking at him as if he was something one found in the dump and tried to fix up or with underlying pity. Most just tried to ignore him but yet wanted to see the boy 'Brucie' took in as a ward. He began to wander around, trying to find a way from the looks people were giving him.

Pity.

Disgust.

Even anger; that was vehemently displayed.

He wanted to get away from them, to slip away. Dick, of course, was a child. And more a less a child at such an event was quite a different thing. He didn't understand this (he would later) as he began walking further and further from the staircase. How long had it been? Ten minutes? Twenty? Honestly, the boy neither cared nor knew.

People gave him strnage looks, staring down at the boy as he walked by. Occasionally, someone would ask him a question and he would politely answer and then slip away once more. Little did he know, a few reporters had noticed that the boy was not with Bruce and that Bruce, well, was distracted; to say the least. They followed behind him closely, he didn't notice and if he saw them more than once it didn't occur to the six year old something might be wrong.

The elegant music was distracting as well, as well as weaving in and out of people. The lights would often go down and then brighten up, adding to what was most likely meant to be a candle lit effect. Laughter echoed of the walls and clinking of glasses and high heels on the floor made it hard to think. How could one stand these parties' was what the six year old wanted to know.

Suddenly, he found himself in quite a secluded corner. It was away from the party guests and from any other person of any sort. He looked around, watching the groups of clustered people put on fake yet convincing smiles on their faces. He sat there, looking for Alfred; but he knew the butler was elsewhere in the Manor.

Dick looked around a bit more, not noticing that five or so reporters had spotted him. He didn't notice them coming closer with every minute. He hadn't noticed the hungry look in their eyes that awaited answers. No, he hadn't. Dick simply stood there, looking quite bored, as he waited for the time to pass by. He wasn't thinking of anything particular but he felt annoyed with all the sounds.

Quiet was something he had gotten used to.

The sounds of a circus had faded into the back of his mind. People actually laughing, clapping, real smiles… that had faded and been replaced with the quiet life of the Manor. A life of little to no noise, interaction and people.

Suddenly, out of nowhere the five reporters and photographers surrounded Dick, firing off questions that no one person could possibly understand. The ballroom was so full of people's voice, music, shoes, waiters and waitresses that no one paid attention to the small group of people that seemed to be surrounding the small boy. Bruce had long since disappeared and Dick felt slightly betrayed when this happened. Sure, he didn't really like or trust Bruce but he did live with the man. He did _occasionally_ talk to him.

But, as these people surrounded him, he didn't think of Alfred. Or, actually, of his mother. The first person to come to mind was:

Bruce.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

"So, Brucie, why did you adopt the kid?"

Bruce looked down suddenly at the lady clutching his left arm. He had been lost in thought at the moment.

Dick.

Bruce looked around wildly, suddenly noticing that the boy was not by his side and hadn't been, since he brought him away from that reporter. His watchful eyes swept through the crowd of people around him, he had yet to see the ebony haired boy. Finally coming to the realization that he was most likely lost and/or scared, Bruce slipped the lady, Anastasia Montgomery's, arm out of his and turned away. "Uh… Misses Montgomery, I have to actually go find Richard, wait here a moment?"

Anastasia's mouth fell into a pout and she leaned closer. "Fine, but you better be back soon-"

"I'll try," he gruffly interrupted, but the tone of his voice said that he wasn't coming back. She scowled and flipped her blond hair over her shoulder, turning away and beginning a conversation with another Gothamite.

Bruce sighed as relief from the rich lady washed over him and he began to make his way through the crowd. Everyone was talking and people tried to stop him in order to make "friends" with the billion dollar playboy. He smiled charmingly and let them talk for a moment before disappearing with a flourish.

The crowd of people at the event didn't help but he, not that anyone knew this, was Batman. How hard would it be to one kid? He could easily find trouble in a city as big as Gotham, how hard could it be?

_Harder than I thought, _Bruce thought bitterly as he made his way through the swarm of people. Did they really need this many people at one event?

"-kid just stood there, listening to the conversation-"

He froze and cocked his head to the side, listening for more; picking out the voice among so many others.

"He just stood there?"

"Yeah, really weird. I didn't notice until I saw him out of the corner of my eyes. Accidentally mentioned his parents," the female voice scoffed. There was no more conversation after that. Bruce scowled and made his way over, hoping to find a clue.

It was Mrs. Garners, the wife of another rich Gothamite. She was much younger than him and often flirted with other men. Her husband didn't care, she came from a rich family like she did; that's what mattered and frankly, it disgusted Bruce. She was talking to an unknown man but right now Bruce was only concerned with finding Dick.

"Mrs. Garners! What a pleasure! You were talking about Richard? Mind telling me where you last saw him, it's seems he ran off."

The lady looked over and she smirked, her eyes narrowing as she took the man in. "Last I saw he was heading that way," she pointed toward the South and then her smirk widened, "Say, why are you looking for him anyway? Lose him?"

Bruce scowled and looked away. "No, it seems he ran off; like I said," he growled. She pouted and looked away, her brown eyes narrowing, and nodded.

"Fine, he's that way, like _I _said."

Bruce nodded and turned away from the insufferable young lady and walked in the direction he pouted, hoping he hadn't been deceived. If he had… well, Batman couldn't pay a visit for that, but he certainly wished he could. He did care for the boy and Bruce had soon realized that even though Dick most likely didn't like him, the boy had wormed his way into the dark knights heart. Even without knowing it.

This didn't bother Bruce on bit.

His eyes scanned the area once more, now that he was in the area Mrs. Garner directed him to, he felt a tad bit more relaxed than he should. He noticed clusters of people but one caught his attention. A group of men, reporters by the looks of it, had centered themselves in a corner of the ballroom. They were hunched over, as if scheming on what horrible questions they could ask today. He waked over, now hearing questions be fired off like canon shots.

Oh gosh.

He stomped over, anger bubbling in him as he made his way over. He grabbed on of the reporters and then spun him around.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Dick felt his back press up against the wall.

The men seemed to still come closer. He felt closed in, not that it mattered, but he didn't like being cornered by men who acted like hungry dogs. His eyes frantically darted around, looking for a way out. But they, literally, had him in a corner. He was actually stuck in the corner of the two walls. A man with beady black eyes smiled an oh-so-fake smile as he pressed closer. Dick whimpered and shrunk back, hoping that maybe he could faze through the wall like he'd seen the Flash do on television.

Suddenly, a large hand ripped the man away from him, spinning him around.

Bruce.

The reporter spun around and scowled at first. "Hey!" he exclaimed and then saw who it was. He gulped, seeing a not to please Bruce Wayne in front of him. He jumped and the rest of the people that had been crowding Dick looked, much to their dislike, like they were ready to run and cower.

Wayne looked almost as scary as the dark night.

"What… do you think you're doing?" the man growled, his hand loosening, however, on the reporters shirt.

"Uh… leaving actually! Nice meeting you Mr. Wayne, it's been a real pleasure!" Bruce's eyes narrowed but he et go, moving away as the reporters and photographers dashed away. Even through that, no one took notice of the exchange. Dick stared up at Bruce, slightly frightened at how dark the man had become. Did he really care?

Bruce leaned down to eye level, ignoring some of the gazes that they had attracted. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

Dick shook his head hurriedly and Bruce let out a sigh of relief. "Good, do you… want to go to your room?"

He nodded.

"Alright, come on," he said and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, Dick flinched but Bruce didn't let go as they moved through the crowd. People stared and once they'd pass; began to break out in whispers. Bruce resisted the urge to grit his teeth.

They made it up the stairs and Alfred met them at the door.

A smile was playing on the old man's lips as he grabbed Richards hand. "I figured my assistance would be required. Come on Master Richard, perhaps we can watch some television…" the butler said and closed the door.

Dick didn't even look back.

* * *

**Two Months later, November 2nd, 2004:**

* * *

"Skipping…. skipping…. skipping…. jump…. skipping…. skipping…" Dick mumbled to himself as he skipped down the Manor. He had brightened much faster in the last two months since Bruce had 'saved him' than in the entire time he had been at the Manor. He hummed to himself and sometimes attempted to make conversation with Bruce.

Merely little things, really, but conversations nonetheless. They would be mostly one-sided, Bruce or Dick, and lasted no longer than a few minutes. But still, conversations.

Alfred was a more happier man it seemed. Dick brightened his life as well, he liked to talk to the man sometimes; why he worked for Bruce, why he lived here, what his favorite color was, nonsense things really; but the British butler paid no mind.

Bruce also seemed to have a little more light in his life. He seemed to smile more and sometimes he would laugh; thinking of things Dick would do occasionally. When they did talk it was short, respectable and quiet but it seemed to take it's toll on the man. No matter how little it was.

"One… two… three…" Dick muttered under his breath and skipped a little more. He was going toward the staircase when, suddenly, a wondrous thought entered his mind.

The banister.

The way he was standing on top of the staircase made him think of sliding down that silky banister. It was perfect. He would be able to fly! Well, not fly like he used to but still; the feeling of wind in his hair made him smile. Oh, how had he not thought of this before?

He grinned as he made his way to the banister, the fact of the floor greeting him had not yet occurred as he put his leg over it. He sat there for a moment, basking in the presence of being up high, for if he looked downward at his right, only the floor remained, not the stairs that was under his left foot. His hands helped him from sliding forward and then… he let go.

The wind rushed passed him as he slid down and he laughed… he actually laughed.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Bruce looked up.

Was that… was that laughter? He set down his pen and glanced over at Alfred, who was making tea. They both looked at each other, quite confused.

"Is that…?"

"I think so…," Bruce said and then dropped is pen completely, running out of the kitchen. He ran down the hall and he heard Alfred behind him. The foyer was just a few feet away and he rushed in, only to freeze with what he saw.

Dick was sliding down the banister.

"Oh my!" Alfred exclaimed behind him. Bruce watched as the boy slid down the banister, gaining speed and momentum. "Dick!" He yelled but the boy, not hearing him over the wind, did not reply. Bruce merely watched as he reached the end of the banister, waiting for him to go flying across the room, not high up. Yes, he went _up_. In the air, laughing all the way. Both he and Alfred gasped as he grabbed the chandelier and used the momentum to fly forward, he did so. He was still laughing as he flipped around the chandelier and then flew downward. He kept himself in a tuck until the last moment; when he unfurled himself and landed, knees bent and arms down but then he jumped up and threw his arms up.

Bruce and Alfred just stared. When he saw them, however, he stiffened and his arms fell to his side. His smile, the one that had been on his face when he had been with his parents, faded and his blue eyes went wide. Bruce, suddenly, smiled.

Dick stared at him and then attentively smiled back. _Smiled. _

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0

"Batman? Batman?"

Batman's head snapped up and he scowled in Shayera's direction. He was in a founders meeting right now and, like most other meetings, he really wasn't paying attention. Well, he _did _pay attention for League meetings but right now he was thinking of his… ward. He was thinking of that spectacular flip that the boy had done not but a few days ago.

Hehad_smiled. _And at himself, which had made that day all the more better. The boy had even talked a little with him during dinner, which normally would have been uncomfortable and quiet. Alfred had, after dinner, scolded the boy for doing such a thing, telling him that the boy almost gave him a heart attack. And then Dick asked whether or not he had liked it and in which Alfred's face has softened and he smiled, nodding in reply.

"What?" He snapped at the Thanagarian, giving her a bat-glare for interrupting his nice thoughts. She glared at him and sighed, propping her elbows on the table.

"Weren't you listening?"

No response.

Shayera sighed and looked at Superman, who was watching Batman warily.

"Well," she began, "we were deciding on whether or not-"

"Leave it," Superman said, "I'll explain it to him later. Dismissed."

Everyone stood up, eyeing Batman warily but then letting it go and leaving. Wonder Woman stopped at the door and cast a long 'You're talking' look and then leaving. Superman walked over to Batman, who was still seated with his elbows propped up on the table and resting his chin on his linked hands. He stared straight ahead while Superman stared at him. Neither said anything for a few moments, soaking in the silence.

Normally, the darkness and eeriness seemed to cling to The Dark Knight but, right now, it seemed that the shadows had betrayed him, letting him sit in the spotlight.

"Something's bothering you," Superman said, not moving from his spot a few feet away.

Batman didn't look up or over. He didn't reply for a few more minutes. "Not exactly," he finally replied. Superman sighed and looked away, slightly annoyed. Batman scowled, not wanting to talk. Frankly, he wanted to get home. "Then what?"

"Richard," this was said instantly, overlapping Superman's question. Superman's eyebrows went up and he looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Maybe he shouldn't have asked anything. Batman didn't say anything as he stood up, not looking at the Kryptonian al the while. Superman watched him, perhaps waiting for a signal for him to speak. But nothing came, not that he should have expected it.

"Oh, uh… it's been awhile. How's he been?"

"He's laughed… and smiled. Kent, I'm going; please don't bother me," The Dark Knight said and then swept from the room, heading toward the Zeta-beam transporters.

Superman watched and then sighed. Stupid antisocialism.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

"Somewhere…. over the rainbow…" Alfred sung under his breath, watching Dick eat. The boy gobbled up the grilled cheese quite fast. Bruce wasn't in today, he had a Wayne Enterprises meeting but the butler knew he wanted to be here.

Alfred could see that, even though the younger man didn't admit it, he already saw the boy as a… son of some sort. He was unsure whether or not he should try to get closer, for fear that Dick might think he's replacing his father or perhaps both his parents. But Alfred knew that Dick looked up to him, even if what was there was in small quantity.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Richard?"

"Why is Bruce never here?"

Alfred pursed his lips and turned away, beginning to wash the dishes. He couldn't come up with an answer that would disappoint the boy but he needed a valid one. Work? No, disappointment was written all over that one. What else?

Dick waited for an answer. Nothing. He didn't know what to expect from the butler, but as soon as the older man had turned away he knew he was looking for the perfect answer. Not that he really needed one, nor had he expected himself to ask such a question. It had slipped out of his mouth on accident. He had gotten so used to the small talk with Bruce that this silence at dinner (at the very least) wasn't welcomed like the other silence.

"Alfred? Dick? I'm home," Bruce walked into the kitchen, still in his working suit; brief case in hand. Alfred turned, surprised. Dick was too. "Master Bruce? You're home early!" he stated and then, when he thought Dick wasn't looking, beamed. Bruce chuckled and nodded, setting his stuff down on the granite counters. "Yes, well, the meeting wasn't all that important."

Dick looked at him strangely. Had he perhaps heard his question? Would he be angry? He didn't look it, but one could never really tell with Bruce Wayne. Was the man as bad as the newspapers made him?

"Dick, mind if I sit here?"

Dick gave a small smile and shook his head. No, he wasn't that bad after all.

* * *

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**Review please, I'll try and update faster if done. And I hope you liked this one, it seems Bruce and Dick are getting closer! **

**Wherever you go, go with all your heat,- Winston Churchill **


	7. Chapter 7: Bats Trust

**Sorry I haven't updated! **

**I've really stressed out, since we're moving in all and people are like, "UPDATE SOON!" on my 'A Look' story. But, I'll be focusing on this one! I would have actually updated sooner, but I've been watching **_**The Batman**_** and **_**Justice League Unlimited**_** to get a feel for the leaguers and Bruce Wayne. They should be more in character now if they weren't before. Therefore, the Bruce Wayne in this is sort of like the one in **_**The Batman; **_**whereas he is young, in his twenties (we're making it 25 in this, therefore he is 20 when he stared being Batman) and sort of like: Grrrrrrr, don't mess with me, yet he's young so he still smiles sometimes, smirks and acts a little egotistic. He's still unsure of himself though and but he has the hero thing down though. **

**So, he'll be 32 when Dick is 13, when the show takes place. I had to downplay the ages though, sorry if that bothers you. And thanks to everyone who voted in the poll. It's still up in case a few of you missed it. :) **

**Again, my apologies for not updating. **

**_Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be_.  
- Grandma Moses**

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

* * *

"Master Bruce, there is someone here to see you, sir," Alfred said, leaning in the doorway with a slightly confused look on his face. He acted like he was missing some important piece of information that he greatly desired, but let fall past his hands. His eye brows were furrowed as he stared at Bruce with faded sky blue eyes. Bruce looked up from his paper work, brow furrowed as he stared at the older man. Normally, he didn't have people come to his house. It generally wasn't allowed by him, some people tended to wander around and most of his work was done in the office anyway. Besides, with Dik being all over Gotham City news, he would be bombarded with questions.

"Uh, who is it?" he asked, glancing at the door warily. The butler swallowed and looked behind his shoulder grimly. Bruce stared at him, awaiting an answer.

"They have chosen to remain anonymous until they see you sir. Shall I let them in?" questioned the butler, letting out a weak cough. He covered it up with his white gloved hand and gave a weak smile that said a million apologies. Bruce stared at him, frowning, wandering who it could be that was making the man so nervous. He nodded and gestured for the man to open the door. The butler nodded and disappeared behind it. The oak doors creaked as they moved a bit, pressure being put upon them.

The person who walked in was not who he expected.

Diana Prince.

In other words: Wonder Woman.

"Bruce," she stated calmly, walking further into the private study, "we need to talk." Her voice was stern, firm and commanding; like when she was Wonder Woman. She crossed her arms now in front of her, shifting her weight onto her right leg. They stared at each other for a few moments like this, neither wanting to give into to the other. It was a staring contest of course. The bat-glare against the Amazonian princess glare of talk-right-now-or-meet-my-fists-of-ultimate-fury. She often gave that look to criminals. Of course, now that he was being giving the look, he felt like the criminal that GPD had originally accused him of being when he had first started out. Then again, he had also been called an Urban Legend.

Of course, the bat-glare won and the princess looked away. Though, now he knew what had the butler so nervous. An angry Wonder Woman would never be anything good. "Look, Bruce," she started, "something's wrong. You got distracted during a League meeting."

"And?" he asked, "It's very much possible for me to get distracted. I'm only human," he leaned back in his comfy chair, looking at her amused. She scowled and lifted her head higher as her eyes wandered around the room. She inspected the study with narrowed eyes, taking in the priceless paintings and vases. The paneled, dark walls interested her to no end. They didn't have paneled walls back on her home island. Most buildings were made of marble there. Then again, this was modeled after the English Manors back in Great Britain, where paintings from the Italian Renaissance and Venetian Art were stocked high and proudly presented on the walls.

"You're _the_ Batman, you don't just get distracted," she pointed out, her blue eyes returning back toward the man.

Without skipping a beat, the man replied, "Glad to know."

Once again the lady scowled, her muscles in her arms tensed as she glared at him. He sighed and held his hands up in defense, yet a smirk played on his lips. He knew he shouldn't be messing with an angry (for what he was unsure) Diana Prince. Then again, he knew her weakness (not that is would or should come to a fight) so, if she did lash out, like she constantly did with Flash, he would be able to get out. Either way, he was fine. Verbal arguments he had down.

"Bruce," she said warningly, her eyes narrowing. He sighed and then got on a poker face, so, in short, his Batman face. It wasn't everyday that this face would show through his Bruce Wayne face, but at the moment it did happen. He knew, deep down and subconsciously, that Bruce Wayne really didn't really exist. Batman was who he really was and wanted to be. Bruce Wayne died that night along with his parents, all those years ago.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, giving in to her glare, "what do you want to talk about?"

"You. What's going on? You've been unresponsive for that last few months, always rushing home for something. What's the rush?" she questioned him, smirking slightly, sensing his discomfort. The man shifted in his seat. He didn't have anything against Diana finding out about Dick, he was just wary how the kid would react to someone else other than Alfred and himself. He hadn't been going to school. Alfred was homeschooling him, just like he had when he was living with his parents so he'd feel comfortable. He was about a level above his own age level. So, instead of working on first grade things he worked on second grade things. His cursive was really good, actually.

"Well-"

"Bruce?" a voice said. Bruce nearly face-palmed, nearly; mind you. Dick's head was poking into the study, his brow was furrowed in concentration and he looked liked he had recently been crying. Diana spun around, yet when she saw they boy she turned and stared at Bruce confusedly. Bruce sighed as Dick walked into the room. He wore his blue striped pajamas and his onyx hair was laying over his hair scruffily, hanging in his bright blue eyes.

"Yes, Dick?"

"I had another nightmare," the boy whimpered, "and I couldn't find Alfred."

Bruce nodded understandingly. Alfred was probably cleaning out the Batcave at the moment, so he couldn't hear Dick scream. Come to think of it, Bruce hadn't heard Dick scream. Normally the kid would yell out in rapid Romani when he had a nightmare and Bruce would hear it echo throughout the entire house. Sometimes it was scary, sounding like someone was torturing the boy. Whenever Bruce thought this, he thought it was cruel; because in a sense, it was like the boy's own mind was torturing him.

"Well, come on. Do you want to talk about it?"

Dick walked slowly over to Bruce, edging away from Diana; who was staring at the boy with wide eyes. He walked over to Bruce, of course he still didn't really like Bruce, or trust him for that matter. But since the butler and Bruce were the only other people in the Manor; he'd have to settle for it. Besides, he knew Bruce was the only one who could truly comfort him. Alfred was okay, but he didn't know how Dick really felt.

Dick stood by the desk and stared up at Bruce and shook his head. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Bruce nodded, but didn't know what else to do. Should he let the boy sit up on his lap?

"Who's that?" Dick asked, pointing up at Diana; who had turned to stare at Bruce with narrowed but wide eyes.

"That is… a friend of mine. Diana met Richard Grayson, my ward," Bruce said, glancing at Richard to see is reaction. The boy flinched, usually hearing the word 'son' when he was introduced to someone new he hadn't met before. He was still getting used to that, even though it had been a few months since it happened.

Diana nodded and walked over. "Hi, a pleasure to meet you Richard. My name is Diana Prince," she held out her hand for him to shake it. The kid's own tan yet pale hand quickly grasped her's and they shook. Diana smiled at the boy.

He already had her wrapped around his finger with a simple hand shake.

* * *

**November 22, Thanksgiving day 8:46 A.M. 2004**

* * *

Dick's eyes fluttered open.

He sat there, staring at the roof of his canopy bed; which was, by the way, bigger than his old kitchen. And yeah, he did that now. He called his old life, well, old. It was gone, gone in the wind. With a simple blink of an eye it was gone. He called it old. It was old. The memories still breezed through his mind all day. Smiles, laughter. Blood, panic stricken eyes. It was both of those memories. Memories of happiness and ones of loss. Memories that made he himself smile as he thought about them. Yet everytime he closed his eyes, the images haunted him.

His fault.

_He should have saved them. _

Tony Zucco.

_He should have said something. _

His fault.

_He didn't. _

He could have saved him.

_He. Didn't. _

The boy let out a small whimper as these thoughts consumed him so early in the morning. He rolled over and pulled the covers closer to his chin, blinking away tears all the while. The streamed down his face and he hiccupped. Sometimes those good memories would cause him pain even more worse than the bad ones. Her smile, his laughter. He couldn't even say mom and dad without crying. It reminded him to much.

Of course, as he got older he would be able to. He knew as he got older that life would have to go on and he couldn't cling to the past. But he was six, so these thoughts had been very simple minded, but still further developed than a regular six year old. He knew this, that he was smarter than most kids his age. He knew this and basked in it, knowing his parents would have been proud.

"Master Richard," Alfred's voice sounded through the door and Dick looked up from his cocoon. "Young Master, you are required for breakfast downstairs. It _is _Thanksgiving young master," the butler said, his voice was muffled though through the large door door. Dick sat up and swallowed down the lump in his throat; memories of past Thanksgivings flooding into his mind.

"Come in, Alfred," he whispered, but Alfred didn't hear it. It was lost in the vastness of the room.

"What was that, sir?"

"I said come in!" Dick croaked, his voice cracking. Images passed through his mind: His mother making a Turkey with he helping from the sidelines. His father would always show Dick a new trick on the trapeze on Thanksgiving. At supper they would eat the wonderful turkey that he and his mother had made and each would list of a bunch of things they were thankful for. The first things were always silly and made no sense but then it would get serious. He always gave thanks for his family, then they would pray and then eat. How could he give thanks for a family that didn't exist anymore?

Tears flooded his eyes.

The door creaked open and the butler stepped in, his face conveying worry. "Master Richard, are you alright? No, you are not. Come here sir," the man sat down on the edge of the bed, and picked the boy up, pulling him into a hug. The boy let out silent tears as he buried his face in Alfred's chest. The older British man stroked the boy's shaggy onyx hair.

"Come sir, we'll get you ready and through the day. Would like you like to come down?"

Dick seemed to contemplate this idea in his head. He _was _hungry and he wanted… he did want to see Bruce. He… he had come to realize this at the moment, he wanted to see Bruce. To thank him. To thank him for a family, no mind how small. The initial mistrust of the man seemed to have faded away as this realization came to him. Dick looked up at Alfred and nodded, jumping out of the bed and running down the hall.

Alfred stood up, slightly shocked, and followed after him.

**][][][**

Bruce sat at the table with the newspaper propped up in front of him.

His coffee was in front of him and he reached forward to grab it, yet hearing the sound of running caused him to look up, brow furrowed. He shrugged, thinking it was simply his imagination. Suddenly, he felt something up his crushed into his leg.

"Oof!" he dropped the paper to be greeted with Dick hugging his leg. He blinked. "Dick, what are you-"

"Thank you, Bruce, for taking me in."

Bruce blinked and then smiled.

"You're welcome."

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

"Sir, Mistress Prince is calling you. Would you like to take the call?"

Bruce looked up once more to see Alfred with the phone in his hand, arm outstretched toward the bachelor. His face was stoic as he stared down at the younger man. Bruce seemed to contemplate it, to pick up or not to pick up. That was the question.

"Hand me the phone, Alfred," the man replied, knowing if he didn't pick it up now, Diana would simply fly in for a visit and either way she would get what she wanted to talk about. Alfred smirked a bit at Bruce, who smiled dryly at the older man.

"Diana?" he asked, knowing exactly how she would respond.

"Who else?"

Yep.

"Diana, I don't mean to be rude-"

"Then don't."

He continued as if she hadn't just spoken, "-but I'm a bit busy right now."

"I'm sure you could make some time. Clark and I have been talking; we're both a tad worried with your lack of League assistance."

He scowled and shifted in his seat, watching as Dick flipped a page in his book. The boy's eyes narrowed as he read the book, confused with the words. Bruce was pretty sure that he was reading Charles Dickens, or perhaps C.S Lewis. Not that he would protest, but it _was _a tad bit above his grade level. Dick had asked if he could read in the study as Bruce worked. Bruce had not, of course, objected as he opened the door for the boy to enter. The child had immediately gone toward the book shelves, looking at all the books with wide eyes. He had to ask Bruce what a few of the titles meant and had ended up throwing those to the crocodiles, going toward the books that he could understand.

As Dick shifted and lifted the cover of his book, Bruce could now see it was in fact C.S Lewis. He was reading the Magician's Nephew. Bruce stared at it confused, where did that come from? He didn't remember buying it… perhaps Alfred gave it to him, or Dick found it somewhere in the boxes downstairs. The boy seemed to be enjoying it, because he would smile or laugh at random moments. Bruce faintly remembered reading the book and wondered why the kid was laughing.

Bruce glanced at the phone. He had been, not that he would care to admit, avoiding the league a bit. Flash had called him about seventeen times last week and Alfred got fed up and but it so it would call to China. Bruce got to listen in, a _very _awkward conversation. He had been, actually, trying to spend more time with Dick; trying to get the kid to trust him a bit more. They had grown closer since Thanksgiving, which had been about two weeks ago. Dick seemed to want to spend a little more time with Bruce, trying to get the closed up man talk. He gave out short quick answers to hard, complicated questions. He always asked Bruce about the Manor or his work. Well, his daytime line of work.

"Bruce? Are you still there?"

Bruce's thoughts snapped back to the fact that he was on the phone. "Yes, I'm here. What did Clark say about me?" he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing; contracting an almost Batman look. Dick looked up, recognizing the name Clark, but then shrugged and stuck his head back in the book.

"He just said you were not really responding to your Comm. link and that it was generally turned off and that when it wasn't you ignored him. Everytime. I know that you don't like Clark that much, Bruce, but that's a bit extreme."

He sighed, "You said so yourself princess, I'm _the _Batman."

He could imagine her glaring at her phone, blue eyes blazing with irritancy. She would then grip the phone as if it were his neck, crushing it slightly and he would hear a slight crack and then proceed to ask her what that was. She would then lie through her teeth, end the connection and then burst into your house a few minutes later and continue the chat.

"Shut up, _Batman_. I'm coming, and I'm bringing Clark," she replied with, her voice suddenly brightening. Bruce groaned. He really didn't want to deal with Boy scout right now and frankly, he didn't want to deal with Diana either. Especially one that wasn't necessarily in the mood to talk.

"No, Diana-" but the connection had already cut off. He sighed and leaned back in the chair. It would be a few minutes for them to arrive and he would just be sitting here.

"Bruce?"

Bruce looked down to see Dick staring up at him. The blue eyes stared at him shyly, like he really didn't want to be there. Bruce blinked, surprised he hadn't noticed the boy move or get up. Normally, the small acrobat would make some sort of noise, even if it was so small that no one else could detect it; Batman could.

"Yes?"

"Could… could you tuck me in?"

Bruce smiled. He was very thankful.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

**Okay, so this chapter began a few days before Thanksgiving. The second part was Thanksgiving and the third part with Bruce talking with Diana was in the middle of December. Next chapter will be Christmas and New Years. You can now see he had Clark **_**and **_**Diana with him. We'll be doing major events now such as his birthday, parents' deaths' anniversary, first day of school, sometimes during the summer and then some little bits in between. Do you guys want to see the talk between Clark, Bruce and Diana? I'll write it if you do. Just put a cookie in your review. **

**Question: What has been your favorite scene so far? **

**So, I have already come to the consolation that I lost a bunch of reviewers since I haven't updated, so those that are still there; thanks for sticking through the entire month and a little more since I've last updated. So, press the very wonderful eye-catching blue button? You should. **

**I got distracted. **

**Duh. **

**Sorry. **

**Forgive me? ;) **

**Sincerely, **

**Fighter1357**

**P.S: I am looking for beta to help me with my 'Capta' story. Check it out please. They will probably help me with a lot of my YJ nad Teen Titans story, but IDK. **

**P.S.S: I will update quicker next time. **

_**Love builds bridges where there are none.- **_**Unknown **


	8. Chapter 8: Robin's Christmas

**I updated! **

**In time! **

**Yay! **

**Hopefully, after you read this chapter; you'll never see snow the same way again. Haven't you ever just basked in it? For those of you who have never seen snow at all, I hope I gave you a good impression and scene. :) **

**Sama: I have no intention of ever abandoning this, I might have to get someone to hold me to this. :) Don't worry, I totally noticed the repetition, makes me know how much you love or like the story, which ever it is. **

**If Diana seems OOC, I was on a sugar rush while writing that part. :DDD**

**BTW, still looking for an official beta. :) **

**The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.  
- Ben Stein**

* * *

**Chapter 8: The next day: **

* * *

"Bruce, if you don't open the door; I'll knock it over!" Diana threatened, her voice rising slightly like they often did in the English language.

Bruce sighed and he seriously thought about taking the escape route to the Batcave. He could imagine Diana raising her fist, her face flushing red as she yelled. The escape sounded nice right now. There was one, of course, that he had as a backup. Not even Alfred knew about, just incase someone would brainwash him, or read his mind, or force him to tell where all the Batcave entrances were and then block them. Honestly, deep down, he knew he was just being paranoid but one could never be to sure, right? Still, the thought of running was funny to him, almost as if he had heard a good joke. Not that he usually laughed to jokes, but still.

Okay, he never laughed at jokes.

"If you knock down that door, I'm pretty sure you'll get in trouble," Clark said seriously, though his voice sounded almost mocking and humorous, an odd sound coming from the Man of Steel. Normally, his tone was kind and soft, unless, of course, he was talking to Lex Luthor. But right now he sounded like he had a bone to pick with someone and that someone just so happened to be poor (not literally) Bruce Wayne. Either way, the Man of Steel was getting his talk, no old door could stop him from that.

"She will. The door's unlocked, by the way. I'm surprised you didn't try that first," Bruce called out, his fingers lightly tapping on the oak wood desk that had once belonged to his father, Thomas Wayne. His brown eyes narrowed as he heard silence, obviously they were whispering to each other and blaming their own idiocy. Honestly, he didn't blame them. If they were in a fight and had waited to get someone, most likely the person they were saving, they would be dead; just because they waited to open the door. And then the people after the would get them and probably kill them. Well, if they had kryptonite and could catch Diana, then they would be dead. Then again, Bruce was thinking of a worst case scenario, and it probably wouldn't happen. But he was Batman, it was just what he did.

The door slowly opened and a red faced Diana and a bashful looking Clark stepped inside the big private study of Bruce Wayne. Diana was wearing a jeans and a blue blouse with black heels, her bracelets were secured on her wrists and Clark wore a simple stereotyped reporters outfit. They both walked forward stoically, their movements stiff and tense.

"Bruce."

"Clark. Diana."

"Bruce."

It was silent for a moment and Clark's lips twitched in humor and he relaxed slightly. Bruce looked at each of them expectantly, waiting for one of them to speak. Besides, they had come to visit and talk with him, they start. Clark's eyes wandered, ever the small farm boy, as he was amazed by the Manor and the study itself. Diana's blue eyes remained, however, on her prey. She muttered under her breath and Bruce could tell it was in Greek, probably cursing him to the gods. He'd heard her do it to Flash, poor guy, when he kept asking her why she wore that costume.

"Bruce, we came to talk," Clark said, hoping to get rid of the tension they had so unknowingly created. Diana let out a sigh of relief, quickly glancing at the man next to her in thanks. Bruce's eye brows shot up and he tilted his head toward the Man of Steel, obviously not impressed. Heck, why should he be? He'd been in so many more business meetings where the people were just so dang awkward and tried to be so impressive; that Bruce just wasn't impressed by anything anymore. Then again, after facing the Joker, he was prepared for anything really.

"Obviously, you didn't come here for a cup of tea," Bruce replied, snorting and spinning in the chair to face them completely. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together and giving them a completely serious Batman look. Diana's glare hardened, her eyes narrowing, but she couldn't compete with the Bat glare that he had so obviously improved. Clark smiled nervously. Sure, he was stronger than Bruce, who was merely human, but he knew Clark's every weakness.

"I know," Clark admitted sheepishly, "but we need to talk. Bruce you've been neglecting League contact, issues and, no real surprise here, some of the members. Is it for the kid?"

Bruce's head shot up, for it had been hanging slightly and his glare hardened. Did Clark really just call Dick _the kid?_ Where they implying that he should be dealing with the League more and not with his s- ward? He knew the League was important, it protected all innocents on the planet, and then some, but his family (this was thought absentmindedly) was important too. If you would ask Alfred, the butler would swear (not in the literal sense) that the man was healing.

"Are you _implying_," he hissed, voicing his earlier thought, "that the _League _is more important than my son?" He hadn't realized that he said son.

Diana looked slightly offended and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Clark, who swept his hand through the air; eyes narrowed. "What! No, I would never say that!" he exclaimed, "I'm just saying the League is important too. They need you about as much as they need the Watchtower… okay, maybe not that much, but still. Bruce, Batman is still there-"

Suddenly, to their surprise, Bruce laughed. "You honestly think that I would just _give up _being Batman? Yes, when hell freezes over, sure. Clark, I could never ever give up that part of my life. Heck, it _is _my life. Richard is here, nothing can change that, I'm just trying to make him feel at home.

"He's broken and lost, Clark, you saw that when you went to Haley's that night. He needs someone right now-"

"Yes," Diana interrupted, snorting in mock laughter, "because you're the perfect candidate. Mr. Dark and brooding himself will heal this boy. Bruce, he would have been better off with someone else-"

"Get out!" Bruce snarled suddenly, standing up and pointing toward the door. Diana stepped back in surprise, all the anger that had flooded her face suddenly left, replaced by shock and realization of what she had just said. Clark glanced at Bruce and then looked at Diana, surprised by what she had just said and Bruce's reaction. Honestly, he hadn't expected this sort of thing from her but, then again, Bruce's reaction was to be expected. But, either way, it confused the Kryptonian.

"What? Bruce, look, I'm sorry! I didn't realize-"

"I said, _get out_," Bruce growled, his eyes narrowing and his voice deepening. Diana straightened and then nodded, promptly spinning on her heels and stalking out, head held high. Though they didn't see it, she was crying. Clark gave an apologetic smile toward the angered man and slowly backed out of the room, once out of sight, however, he was gone.

Bruce sighed and sat back down in the chair, the anger gone.

She was right though.

* * *

**December 25, Christmas day 5:34 A.M, 2004 **

* * *

Dick woke up, eyes widening when he realized what day it was.

Christmas.

How could he have forgotten? Just last night, obviously, it had been Christmas Eve, he had even gotten to open the present that Alfred had gotten him. Bruce's present was yet to come and, to say the least, Dick was extremely curious as to what it was. He had tried to prod around the house in search of _anything _that could relatively look like a present. He hadn't had any luck, considering the Manor was so large.

He threw the covers off himself, jumping out and onto the floor, his bare feet slapping against the cold wood floors, and ran out of the room. He zipped down the stairs, pausing to look out a window to see the soft snow falling over Gotham City. He had never truly seen snow before, mostly because during the cold winter months they went to the warmer places, often down south. The circus had never taken a break…

He wiped a tear that slid down his cheek.

Thinking back toward the snow, he had yet to wonder where it came from; having never read about it. It honestly fascinated him, to see the white fluffy stuff come down from a grey-white sky. The clouds swirled around the city in a dark mass, their color reminding Dick of smoke from a fire, only lighter in shade. The white snow fell down peacefully, not coming down to fast. It came down in sheets, almost making the grey city blending into the frozen, crystallized water particles. Dick's breath hitched as he stared out the window, completely forgetting it was Christmas just because of the thrill of the snow. He grinned to himself slightly as an idea popped into his head.

He continued down the stairs, though he was now tip-toeing down, careful not to wake Alfred, if he wasn't already up yet. He carefully walked over to the door, absentmindedly pulling the cuffs' of his sleeves closer to his hands. He grabbed the big iron handle, his small tan hands wrapping around it delicately, and pulled with all his might. The door gave a small creak but then opened effortlessly. The wind blew in, wrapping around the boy like sheets. He let out a suppressed shiver, not expecting for it to be so cold.

Sure, he knew the snow needed cold but he didn't know it needed to be _that _cold. He let out a deep, determined sigh and tromped out into the bitter cold, the winter breeze biting at his exposed skin, giving him a pale complexion. He ignored it, closing the door behind him, not realizing that it locked itself, and walked out down the walkway. He stared up at the sky, his blue eyes widening in wonder.

Dick clutched the edges of his pajamas, folding the cuffs of his sleeves over his hands. He wiggled his toes and then looked down, feeling an odd sensation in them.

They were numb.

Not that he realized it, because he shrugged them off and looked around at the white around him. He had normally thought white as such a bland color, mostly because he grew up around _so much _color. But now, as he saw it floating around him, shining and fluttering in the wind, he thought it was beautiful. As he stared up, the snow swirling delicately around him, the grey sky in the background, he felt… almost warm. It twinkled like stars in a grey sky, beacons to the darkness that came from the night. It swirled down around him, floating around and twisting and turning. They were so flexible, so interesting to watch.

He smiled to himself, silently wishing his parents were there with him.

He continued walking, finding himself in the white covered gardens. The normally blood red roses were crinkled and frost covered their brown stalks, but he still thought it was beautiful. Gorgeous in it's own special way. The carnations and daisy's were gone to, but Dick could still identify them with little problem. The red brick path was covered in the white stuff, the landscape blending together in a swirling mass of sparkling white. He smiled at it, pushing back the coldness factor in the back of his mind. It almost seemed like a painting worthy of being inside Wayne Manor. The whites and grays and dark colors went together so valiantly, that it seemed almost like a fairytale land. Like the one in one of C.S Lewis's books.

A snowy wonderland.

It was bitter, biting at his skin uncomfortably. The wind wafted through his ebony hair, the black onyx slightly grey from the icicles and snow sticking to it, making it slightly damp. It shined in the faded yellow light from the sky, but the sun was mostly covered up by the grey clouds. The wind was harsh as it suddenly blew in his face. He spluttered, his breath being seen by his eyes a surprise to him, having not noticed it before.

He gave out a deep breath again, seeing the frosty grey color come from his mouth made him giggle.

If only his parents could see him now…

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Bruce had been sitting in his bed for a bout fifteen minutes before he finally came to the realization that is was Christmas and there was someone in the house other than Alfred. A boy, about six years old, would most likely be either a) excited about it or b) sad because his parents were dead and this was his first Christmas without them.

He knew that Dick would most likely in the kitchen with Alfred, if the butler was up of course. Most likely he was, he really had never been the one to sleep in. Bruce threw the covers off him and grunted as he sat up, his bare feet slipping into come navy blue slippers. He stood up and made his way to the door, waking straight past Dick's room as he walked down the stairs. He went by the window, smiling as he saw snow, being reminded of the times before his parents were gone.

He stepped into one of the more frequently used kitchens. Alfred was making coffee and humming to himself, going along with the Christmas music from the radio, mixing a few scrambled eggs in a pan. Much to Bruce's surprise, however, he saw no Richard Grayson. Normally, the boy would be leaning against the counter, chatting silently and comfortably with Alfred. Sometimes he would even help cook with the older man.

"Alfred," Bruce said, eyes warily bouncing around the room, "have you seen Dick?"

"No, sir, I have not. I thought he was still asleep. Was he in his bed? Oh, and Merry Christmas, sir."

Bruce glanced up at Alfred and nodded in reply and shifted uncomfortably. Should he feel worried? No, Dick was probably still sleeping in his bed. Nice and warm. "Maybe… maybe I should go check, just in case," he said, feeling way to paranoid than he should have been. He stood up, glancing toward the door, hesitating, just waiting for the kid to come in, either crying or smiling. Alfred nodded, smiling but confused as he watched the younger man walk up and out of the kitchen, also wondering why Master Richard hadn't entered yet. The boy was generally up bright and early to get his schoolwork done, mostly so he could wander the Manor and the manor's grounds.

Alfred silently wished that the boy hadn't gone outside.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Bruce walked toward Dick's room, glancing out at the thick fog that had settled over the city and the Manor. It made him uneasy for some reason, but he wasn't sure why. Normally, thick fog was usual in Gotham City, and most of it was hazy grey because of the polution and people were so used to it, that they didn't even realize the air was different until they left the city.

Slowly, he approached his ward's door, the iron knob beaconing him to come and twist it's handle. He placed his hand on the cold metal, but didn't pull back, instead, opening the door and looking at the bed.

The empty bed.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Dick turned to go back toward the Manor.

And then turned again.

And again.

And then realized he was lost. The whiteness had blended everything together, it was still pretty but quite confusing to the six year old. The bitter coldness hit him from time to time, his face turning almost as white as the snow, for he was freezing cold. His eyes had lost their bright blue color a bit, becoming foggy and glassy. But he still maintained a straight mind as he turned around, hoping to see the dark Manor against the white grey sky.

Nothing.

He bit his lip, biting away the frost that had turned his lips blue and even drawing blood, but he didn't realize it. Dazed, he continued walking. The world became quiet and foggy, a dense thick cloud of fog and snow had descended on Gotham City, making it harder and harder to see. He ran into a few shrubs from time to time, but everything seemed to blend together as if a painter had taken a brush to the city.

He closed his eyes, a tear running down his pale, icy cheek, the thought of being left out in the cold scared him. His feet had an odd sensation and, even though he could not see it, his lips were a blue, purple-white.

He curled up in a ball, his breath warming him as he breathed into his hands, but the warm sensation only lasted a few seconds. He shivered, teeth clacking against each other, his body trying to generate heat. His eyes slowly began to close, the fog and the cold drifting into his thoughts. His dreams shifted, sometimes he was a character in a book he had read. A swordsman, fighting against the White Witch or sometimes he was a valiant dragon, defending his treasure.

White covered his vision, sometimes he thought he was seeing his parents, other times he saw Bruce or Alfred. Sometimes he heard voices, people yelling his name. Were they his parents? Were they calling for him to come home? Was the past few months all just one big horrible dream? He saw flashes of light and splotches of darkness. His vision faded in and out as the coldness took over, pulling him in unconsciousness.

The last thing he felt was strong arms wrapping around him.

* * *

Bruce laid Dick on the velvet covered couch, pulling up the wool blanket he found.

The boy snuggled into the cushions, his pale skin returning to it's normal color as the warmth from the Manor spread through his limbs. Bruce had found the boy curled up in a shivering ball, unconscious. Panic had overtaken him as the worst case scenario came to his mind. He rushed forward and pulled the boy into his chest, hoping to warm him up. Dick had been as white as the snow, his ebony hair was covered in frost and his lip was bleeding, no doubt from a bite mark.

Bruce rushed toward the house and ordered Alfred for hot chocolate and then rushed toward the main living room, laying him on the couch and fetching a blanket. The boy was sleeping and Bruce had taken his temperature: 98.3 degrees. He had mild hypothermia and Bruce nearly fell over from worry. He should have at least expected that, since the weather outside was 10 degrees below zero, record temperatures in Gotham City. Of course, as long as they kept him warm, he would be fine. And, as long as he didn't get Hepatic Dysfunction, but hopefully that could be avoided. They would slowly warm him up, insulating him in warm clothing and the blanket. Having already changed the boy's very wet pajamas to something more appropriate, warmer clothing, he would begin to warm up.

"Sir, I brought the hot chocolate, shall I leave?" Alfred said, causing Bruce to look up in surprise; having not heard the butler.

"Huh? Sure, I'll just wait for him to wake up," Bruce replied, glancing down as the boy shifted slightly. Alfred nodded and bowed, retreating to the room to go clean up the mess from breakfast, thinking that this would be a very memorable Christmas. Bruce stroked Dick's hair, it's dampness bothering him. He grabbed a towel from earlier and rubbed Dick's hair, trying to get the remaining wetness from it.

He sighed and sat back in the chair across from the couch, watching Dick with warm brown eyes. The boy would mumble in Romani in his sleep, shifting slightly to fit his comfort. He pulled his knees up into his chest, wrapping small, pale thin arms around them. Bruce smiled slightly and then looked down.

Bruce reached down and pulled the Christmas present he had _gotten _for Dick. He hadn't bought a thing. Bruce moved forward fluidly and set the boy's familiar elephant in his arms.

At least he got to find out who peanut was.

* * *

**New Year's Eve. December 31, 2004 11:55 P.M **

* * *

Dick and Bruce sat in the living room with Alfred, watching the New Year's Eve party at Time Square.

Dick was obviously fascinated by it, having never seen the party on television before. They probably were performing on New Years Eve & Day, so television was not an option. Bruce was having more fun watching Dick watch the screen than actually watching the screen. Alfred was drinking a 'spot of tea' and reading a book by Edgar Allen Poe, though why he would be reading that greatly confused Bruce, but he simply brushed it off as pure boredom.

He frowned as he realized that he hadn't called Diana back and apologized for snapping at her. But he decided to prove her wrong. This would be a place where Dick could grow up, free from vigilantes and heroes. He smiled as Dick jumped and gave him and Alfred a hug, surprising the man and dropping the book, since the ball dropped.

This year would be a new year.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

**Review! Thank you! Can we get up 100! Please! **

**Chance is a word void of sense; nothing can exist without a cause. -Unknown**


	9. Chapter 9: A Bird's Discovery

**The chapter you have all been waiting for! Dick's birthday! Yay! Has anyone noticed that in reviews, Dick's name is starred out? ** like so? Makes me laugh everytime I see it. Lol. Well, if you have the Profanity Filter, like I do. Anyway, you all voted in the poll! So here comes the result! This chapter is probably going to be the most fun to write, and as I'm writing this AN, the chapter is nonexistent. The AN at the end will be once I've finished the chapter and edited. **

**Oh, and when I say love is something you do; I don't mean it like that, you know what I mean those of you who are snickering.**

**Special guest in this chappie! Yay! **

* * *

**Chapter 9: **

* * *

Some have said that love is a trifle thing; but, truly, it surrounds our every thought. Even those you hate, a small part of you loves them, or else you wouldn't think about them. Love is in every aspect of our lives, our work, family, friends, hobby's. Love is, actually, not a feeling. It is something you do. You do not _feel _love. Love goes toward someone, you love them. They are in your thoughts, you see them, you interact. Now, that is not saying anyone you talk to, you love. Those who are close to you, you care for them, you love. Love can abandon you, or, perhaps, you it. You can, much to the surprise of anyone, can abandon love. If something is ripped from you, something that you loved, your love will be stripped from you before your very eyes. Hate and revenge will grow, consuming your every thought. Vengeance will be your guide in life and will control your actions unless you take it and control it.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. It does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

* * *

**February 18th, 1:27 A.M. **

* * *

Batman sighed, rubbing his temples slightly.

He stood on a gargoyle over Gotham City, his eyes trained on the dank, wet streets below. A light mist had settled over the city and the rain came down softly. Puddles reflected the little moonlight that escaped from the clouds, their mirrored images of the smoky mist above them circulated and rippled with the falling rain. Movement was little on this dark night, few cars moved in the street and the freezing February air was bitter cold, biting at any exposed skin. Most people were staying inside, including the criminals, and Batman felt that the need to be warm was circulating through the city like an epidemic. Frankly, he wanted to go home too, but he wouldn't finish his rounds until the sun began to pop through the grey clouds, or if the time was right; because it didn't look like the sun would make an appearance all through the cold February week.

He was crouched in a poised position, ready to move at a moments notice. He wore his winter suit, the white one with the full face mask. It allowed him to blend in with the snow, fight Mr. Freeze and stay warm in the winter. It was also cold in the early months and the city seemed to be attracting fog and mist like there was no tomorrow; therefore blending in with the white took little to no effort from the white-grey costume.

"You look tired," a silky-smooth voice said behind him. He heard slight movement and the sound of heels clacking against the stone that made up the building. Batman didn't turn around; he knew that voice. Frankly, he didn't want to talk to the voice behind him, ever since Dick came to live with him, he'd spend more time at the Manor and seeing people that generally annoyed him or talked to him as Batman seemed to be against Dick. So, he'd been slightly avoiding the Batman mantle. But either way, Gotham still needed a protector and he couldn't just abandon that. He'd said so himself, he wouldn't give up the mantle of hero.

"Oh really," he replied, his voice gravelly, "and how did you get that impression?"

There was no sound until he heard a small chuckle coming from his left. His arm shot out and grasped something. An arm. A small surprised yelp echoed through the air and the sound of a curse soon followed it. He looked over, smirking slightly at the disgruntled Catwomen before him. The cat thief let out a huffed sigh and glared at him behind the mask, but it didn't effect him.

"Okay, forget that last thought. You're not tired, but you have been avoiding your patrol crap. What's up?" she asked, rubbing her wrist after he let go, turning back toward the city. Her grey eyes from behind the mask examined him as he avoided her gaze. She gave a deep, long sigh and turned to face the city as well, watching the light rain come down. He didn't reply, knowing that she knew what was going on. Besides, she kept tabs on his identity and he on hers.

"Is it the Grayson kid?"

He gave a low growl, turning to face her; the whites of his cowl narrowed dangerously. Even she was a bit threatened and back down, holding her hands up in the defense. He turned away again, but his eyes were still narrowed as he went back to examining the city.

"Fine, fine; I won't call him that. Still, how is he Bruce? I know he's like you, er, sort of. He joining the field?"

His head whipped toward her so fast the turn almost didn't even exist. Flash would have been proud and jealous. His eyes were narrowed and he gripped the gargoyle with all his might, a bit of the weather beaten stone cracking. "No, _Selina, _he is not. He will not be harmed by this life, I will not allow it. He's to young, he'll get hurt."

Selina Kyle backed up a bit, surprised by the menace in his voice, but then nodded in understanding. She moved away from the bat, knowing she had slightly upset him. Besides, he could break her arm if he wanted too. Not that he would, but she knew it was sometimes hard for him to contain his anger.

"Alright, alright, sorry. I know what you mean. Still, how is he?"

His answer was short and blunt, the typical Batman answer, but Selina was pleased with it nonetheless. "Fine."

She nodded and then realized he didn't want to be bothered, knowing that her question had bothered him, she slipped away into the misty night, her heels clacking ever so quietly against the wet stone. Batman, realizing that she was gone for the night, let his shoulders fall slightly, his anger disappearing with Catwomen.

No, Dick was not going to be like him. He wouldn't let the boy let anger drive him, let revenge fuel his life. Dick would grow up having a normal life, he wouldn't know about Bruce and the Batman being one in the same. Bruce wouldn't, because he loved his son.

And that, was a promise he would keep.

* * *

**March 21, Dick's birthday **

* * *

Bruce looked up from the newspaper.

It was Dick's birthday, how could he have forgotten. He frowned at this revelation and looked at the clock, it was 9:37 A.M and Dick still wasn't up yet. Was the boy still sleeping? No, that couldn't be. The boy was usually up bright and early for Alfred's breakfasts. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen Alfred all morning either and Bruce had been up since 5:45. Technically, since his Batman duty's went well into the morning, he should have slept in but for some reason his mind and body decided it would torture him and wake him at almost six in the morning. Frankly, that wasn't what he needed.

"Br-Bruce?" a small muted voice behind him whispered. Bruce turned around from his desk, seeing Dick standing behind him with Peanut held tightly in his hand and tears falling down his cheeks. Bruce vaguely wondered how he hadn't heard Dick come in and up behind him. The boy let out a small whimper and Bruce knew what it was for. Today was his first birthday without his parents.

Bruce leaned over, his brow furrowed in worry as he held the boys shoulder in his hand. Dick looked at him sullenly and opened his mouth to speak, but his vocal cords abandoned him and all that came out was a huff of air. Bruce sighed and took the boy in his arms, letting him sit in his lap. They sat there for a few moments, Bruce calmly stroking the mop of ebony hair on the boy.

"I'm seven now," Dick muttered, his voice hoarse and ruff, like he hadn't talked at all that morning.

Bruce nodded, "They would be proud Dick," he whispered in the boys ear. The boy nodded, silent tears moving down his cheeks as he thought about what Bruce had said. Would they be proud? He hadn't done his flips and worked on his routines since the day before it happened, which was almost a year ago. Today, the first day of spring, his birthday; his mother would always say she was her little robin and when he flew through the air, performing with so little effort, it would always make her so proud. He smiled at the thought, closing his eyes as he remembered her leaning down and giving him the biggest and best hugs ever.

"I know," Dick whispered, his eyes still closed as all the good and happy memories passed behind his eyelids.

Bruce knew what was happening, what Dick was remembering. He had done the same thing so long ago, when he too, had experienced his first birthday without his parents. He had just lain there in his bed, eyes closed and tried to think of all the things that made him smile. His mothers laugh, his fathers long talks with him, going out with his parents. Anything that would remind him.

"Master Richard, Master Bruce; breakfast is ready," Alfred intoned, his voice coming from behind the big oak doors. Bruce looked down at Dick expectantly, awaiting to know whether the boy was up to it or not. Dick smiled slightly, thinking of Alfred's breakfasts and slid from Bruce's lap and moving toward the door, the purple elephant in his hand bobbing along behind him. Bruce smiled and followed his son toward the beginning of the day.

* * *

It mostly passed in a blur.

Dick had eventually decided that they go to the gardens on the first day of spring. He want to see if there were any flowers. Bruce complied, slightly reluctant to go but the exuberance that Dick had shown had caused the man to be weaseled into going. Dick was chatting quietly, slowly becoming more and more faster with his words, his voice rising in the quiet, slow breeze that passed through the garden.

"Zucco is going to pay," the boy suddenly said, his voice lined with anger. Bruce looked down surprised, his eyes widened.

"Who?"

"Zucco. I saw him at the circus, he said someone would have to pay. He killed them, I know he did," Dick intoned, eyes narrowed dangerously. Bruce nodded and looked away. He didn't want Dick's childhood consumed in revenge like his had been. He didn't want the boy to driven like vengeance.

Silence passed between the two as the continued to walk through the gardens. Bruce waited for him to say more of this Zucco character but the boy kept quiet. Bruce knew that soon he would mention one of his parents after this, probably referring to something in the garden.

"My mom, her favorite flower was an Iris. Do you have any Iris's?" Dick asked, his hand tightly wrapped around Bruce's. And there it was. The boy looked up with expectant blue eyes that awaited a final answer. Bruce went completely blank, having never actually noticed nor cared for the flowers and the gardens, let alone which types. He had, at one point in his life; when it had been a happy time, often gone walking with his mother and father in the gardens. They would talk, sometimes his father went on and on about how business was and sometimes it was planning for a party. Most of the time, they just walked. There was nothing special in it, but to Bruce; it was just a good memory to have.

"I don't know," Bruce replied, looking away as to not see the disappointed expression cross the boy's face. "But we can look. Do you know what they look like?"

Dick looked away, frowning. March in Gotham was fairly cold, mostly since they were up north, and the flowers wouldn't be in bloom, technically, till April or early May. But the way Dick had asked, Bruce really wanted to show him an Iris. Besides, the older man felt that Dick wanted to see it on his birthday because his mother wasn't there and he felt that he should honor her in _some _way. And anyway, what better day then on the first day of spring, to see her favorite flower?

"No. Can we go inside Bruce? I'm feeling tiiired," the boy said, looking up, a yawn slurred into the words. Bruce chuckled and nodded, tugging on Dick's hand to lead him back toward the Manor. Images of finding Dick in cold in February flooded his vision. Bruce closed his eyes, shaking his head, the worst possibilities had come to thought. Dick hadn't been able to find his way to the Manor because he was lost. Frankly, Bruce couldn't blame him for going outside. Having never seen snow before, the child would simply be intrigued by it.

"Sure Dick," Bruce said.

And they slowly began their trek back.

* * *

Dick slipped into his bed and let Bruce tuck him in.

He got used to Bruce, even coming to like the man who had taken him in a year ago. All in all, it hadn't been an eventful birthday, at least not yet. Dick had promptly decided to take a nap, slightly exhausted from unknown reasons. Bruce complied, deciding not to argue with him, and had gone upstairs to tuck him in. The walk in the garden seemed to have worn him out, causing him to be sleepy and tired.

He hadn't asked for a birthday present from either Bruce nor Alfred. Of course, Alfred had given him a big, nice breakfast in exchange for a gift. Bruce hadn't gotten him anything, or, nothing that he knew of. It was hard to tell what Bruce was feeling, but his eyes conveyed everything to the boy. The man was silent, dark and brooding. He didn't talk a lot, but, then again, neither did Dick. Of course, Dick had been such a chatterbox with his parents that one could tell within a few years he'd be back into that habit. Still, Dick was sort of hoping for something from Bruce. But he hadn't asked; one simply didn't ask for a gift.

Dick's thoughts wandered to his parents as Bruce turned off the lights and closed the door. He vaguely wondered what they would think of Bruce. Would they approve of the billionaire philanthropist playboy? How would they think of the Manor? Simple living had always been their lifestyle, electronics had been generally not welcomed in the Grayson household. Would they mind if he didn't have to clean his room, since the Butler did it? Would they mind it? Would they have preferred or more simple life? Maybe one with a family? It could have happened that would have had a sister or brother?

As these thoughts went through his mind, he drifted to sleep.

* * *

Bruce typed furiously on the Bat Computer.

Zucco. Zucco.

Where had he heard that name before?

Multiple images came up. Newspaper files of a circus. The name was Bundies Family Owned Circus. It was closed down some thirty thirty-five years ago due to low profits and an accident involving a knife thrower. Apparently, the boy had killed his father when his hand slipped. That boy, by the way, was Tony Zucco. Apparently, after the circus closed the mother and the boy moved to Gotham City.

Eventually, it turned out, a man with the same name a few years later began threatening people for 'protection' there were a few witnesses but nothing really against him. This had come from a variety of mini news articles that probably were of little importance to Gotham's people. Those things were of daily occurrence to them. If anything, the whole escapade was sad. The boy could have had a good life. Well, as good as it could have been in Gotham City.

The whole thing that was ironic, though, was that Tony Zucco from the circus and had ruined his life and now he ad gone to a circus as a crime boss and ruined some one else's. Bruce's eyes narrowed as he thought about this. Dick's life was ruined, just because someone wanted money. Dick had said a payment, the Zucco man wanted payment for _something_. Obviously, whatever it was, had caused him to kill Dick's parents.

Time for the Batman.

* * *

The Batmobile screeched to a stop as it moved through the silent streets of Gotham City. The moon was gone, leaving the bat in his element. The streets were flooded with shadows and darkness, the blue light of the Batmobile illuminating them only for a few seconds as it passed. It moved with hardly a sound, the people oblivious in the house to know what it was; more or less likely thinking it was a speeder that was out of control.

Batman had made his way through Gotham's street's toward the slums. And by slums, it basically means the docks. Any criminal who is _any _criminal takes a warehouse by the docks. He'd have more encounters there than pretty much anywhere else from the city. Besides, if Batman didn't know criminals. Then Flash was slow.

If anything, checking in a few bars and interrogating a few people would get him, if any, some info on Zucco. Of course, the bat didn't know where to start. There were ton's of places where he could be or where anyone who knew him could tell Batman about the murderer.

Batman's eyes narrowed and his hands tightened around the wheel as it went to a complete stop.

A murderer. That's exactly who and _what_ he was.

* * *

Dick's eyes fluttered open.

He groggily lifted himself up, his small but strong arms surely letting him pic himself up. He looked around his now darkened room. The velvet curtains were closed and no light streamed through. His head swiveled around and then back toward his bedside table. A crystal vase sat on the table, the water with a faint glow of light. Four flowers were set inside. Dick's hand shot out and his small but nimble finger grazed the purple petal of the Iris flower. He smiled softly and sat up completely to sniff it. The smell was comforting and reminded him of their trailer when his mother would set about five flower vases just so the smell of the flowers could flow through the room. Thoughts of his mother surrounded him as he looked at the flower with soft blue eyes.

He glanced down at his clock, seeing that it was only 7:45, he realized he hadn't had dinner yet. His stomach grumbled in discomfort as he thought this. Moving swiftly from the bed, his small feet met the floor and he walked slowly toward the door; a feeling of being nausea overwhelmed him and he feel to the floor, gasping for breath. Suddenly, it left him and he was able to stand upright to catch his breath. A small smile grazed his lips as he felt himself move with little problem.

He didn't know what came over him, perhaps it was just from being so tired catching up with him, but now he was fine. He slowly opened the door and not a creak came out of it, and made his way down the hall. He wanted to eat and to thank Bruce for the flowers. It occurred to him that Bruce had probably know idea for his birthday and had gotten him the flowers in supply. Dick didn't mind though, the flowers were perfect.

Alfred was no where in sight, however, once Dick reached the kitchen. The old man was usually found in there or in the Library dusting for the tenth time that day. A sly smile came on the boys face as the thought of the ultimate game of hide and seek throughout the manor would ensue. Alfred was hiding and Dick was seeking. If anything, the Manor was _the _perfect place to play the game, with all the nooks and crannies that were in the large home, it was truly the perfect place. Dick had once even heard Alfred talking about secret passages that went from room to room. The idea of that seemed to make Dick adventurous but he knew that he shouldn't wander the manor.

He _still_ got lost sometimes.

Not minding where he was walking, Dick seemed to have found himself in a library; another one anyway. Who knew how many there were in the Manor? Two velvet chairs were in front of the fire place and a side table in between them. The fire place was unlit, causing the room to be very dark from the lack of light from fire and moon. Bookshelves lined every other wall around the room, except for a place where a grandfather clock was stationed. The thing that seemed to have caught Dick's attention.

A picture of his parents was on the wall over the fire place. His mother and fathers face stared back at him, the features smiling. His mother was holding his fathers hand. Their features were soft and smiling, his mothers eyes seemed to have a spark of love in them. "Mama. Tatăl," he whispered, slowly walking up to the picture and stroking it with his hands. He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut from the oncoming tears that flooded over. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, the other still stationed on the picture; right over his mothers other hand. This was probably the original birthday present from Bruce.

"De ce m-ai lăsat?" He whispered again to himself. He always seemed to ask this question to himself every night. Why did they leave him? Why did they have to go and leave him with this man? Why did Zucco have to take them? Yes, he knew it was Zucco. Dick had figured it out when he continuously thought about the man he had seen yelling with Mr. Haley. The man had asked for a payment? A payment of what?

Death.

A payment of death.

Dick moved away from the picture, a small grazing his features as he moved around the unfamiliar library. The grandfather clock intrigued him greatly and seemed to draw him in, causing his legs to move him in that direction unknowingly. He touched the pendulum lightly, the cool surface surprising him into pulling his hand back with slight shock. Finally pulling up enough courage to touch the moving metal weight, he grasped it completely, stopping it from moving back and forth. He looked at it warily, expecting it to start moving once he let go.

It did not, however, continue and remained in place. Dick frowned, thinking he had broken it and grabbed it again, pulling it down to see if that would fix the problem.

Suddenly, the clock began to slid down. Dick's hand shot out from the tight hold he had had over the metal weight and he jumped back with wide eyes. A glowing steel door was left in the wake of the clock. The door's opened to reveal a circular, very tight, very small room. Dick, realizing it was an elevator, stepped in to inspect it. Not knowing that it responded to weight, the door slid shut behind him, closing him off from the library. Dick let out a muffled cy of shock and banged against the doors with his fists.

"Bruce!" he cried in worry, but he continued to feel an odd feeling. He had the notion that he was traveling downward, but the Manor wasn't that big. The basement levels didn't go that far down, did they? Suddenly, it stopped and he lurched forward with surprise into the door. The doors slid open and he tumbled out on more steel. Feeling slightly disoriented, he groggily sat up and looked around, eyes widening when he realized he was in a cave of some sort. "Whoa," he muttered to himself as he walked around. The cave was big, round and echoic. A computer was on a rocky wall, keyboards and holographic things below it. A chair was moved up against it as well. The ceiling had stalactites hanging from it, causing the boy uneasiness when he looked up at the pointed rocks. There were multiple levels and metal poles with holes through the floors connected them. He moved over to the edge where quite a large hole was. Through that hole was obviously a place where a car would be, as a tunnel led from it.

Suddenly, a roaring noise and a flood of lights blasted Dick, causing him to move back from the edge of the hole in surprise. Regaining his balance, he moved closer, back toward it, to see a high-tech looking car now in place of the pad. The top of the sleek black car slid open and Dick leaned in from utter curiosity.

The thing that jumped out nearly sent him to his wits end.

The Batman.

* * *

**Good Cliffy? Bad Author making a good cliffy? Yup! **

**Lol. Hope you liked this chapter. And, well, yay! Dick found the Batcave... and Batman himself! So, take that Bruce! What do you think of your promise now? Haha. Anyway, any thoughts or questions with the story? I have a simple answer to that question: Review! Makes you happy because questions will be answered and maes author happy because people asked questions and reviewed! Ah yes, one big happy family. **

**If there were anymistakes, my apologies. After reading it over five times, my brain supplies the needed info so I don't realize that the mistake is there. **

**New poll on profile, check it out. **

**So, uh, review? **


	10. Chapter 10: The Aftermath

**Sorry for the late update, I was busy with working on another story. So, here we go! **

**I think the reaction I created is pretty realistic, if I do say so myself. **

**Disclaimer: No matter how much I want to… I will never own YJ, Batman or Robin or DC Nation. A monkey would have a better chance of owning it. Me? No. Anyway, yeah, disclaimed. **

**Also, I forgot to add the sayings last chapter; oops. **

**_Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving_.  
- Albert Einstein**

* * *

**Chapter 10:**

* * *

Dick stumbled back, thinking that somehow his eyes had deceived him.

But, alas, it was true, the Batman stood there, looking like he was inspecting something on the Batmobile. Frozen in his place, the small six year old boy didn't know what to do. Move, make himself known by the bat? He didn't want to get in trouble, or make Batman angry.

He quickly turned on his heels and ran toward a steel beam. His feet barely touched the ground, for the acrobat was as light as air on his feet. He sunk into the shadows and watched as the Batman came up from the pole. It seemed to have some sort of device that moved upward according to the handlers wishes.

Batman was pulled upward and landed into a crouching position as he let go and jumped down. Dick sunk as far as he could into the shadow he was in, his muscles were tight and tense as he watched with wide, fearful eyes. Batman moved toward the large computer and sat down in very comfy looking chair. The bat began typing furiously and multiple pictures popped up. Dick tried to get a good lock at them but was to far away to do anything else other then watching flashes of color on the floor.

He knew he had to get out of there, and that needed to be done fast. He'd heard stories of The Batman, seen him on the TV occasionally too. But mostly just stories; how people would be hung _upside down _on lampposts, babbling about nothing. He'd seen him throw a punch on TV that could knock a man into a wall, effectively cracking the wall too.

He didn't want to know what the bat would do to trespassers.

He stepped forward quietly, making little to no sound. Batman didn't change his position, typing away with no hesitation. Dick let out a breath and continued tip-toeing toward the elevator that he had taken down with. His movements were silent and he kept to the shadows, he barely let out and breathes of air, thinking that the slightest sound would set him off.

A shadow appeared over him.

Dick stopped, his eyes widening in fear. Slowly, he turned around on his heels and tilted his head upward to see a living shadow. It's white eyes were narrowed and glared at him without any waver in them. They seemed cold, dark yet light and created fear. Images of his parents flashed in his eyes and tears came to his eyes. He stumbled back and fell back on the floor with a thud and the sound of panging metal.

Batman reached forward, his arm shooting out and grabbing Dick's. The boy let out a strangled cry and tried to fight the man before him, but the grip was much to strong. Tears flooded his vision and everything became a blur.

"Please, let me go!" he protested, pulling with all the strength he could muster. He hoped begging would have some effect on the looming presence of the man before him. Surprisingly, the bats grip loosened and Dick pulled away, falling once more onto the hard, metal floor. When his wet, big blue eyes met those emotionless white ones, a new round of tears burst forth from his eyes and he tried to get away.

"Master Richard!" a familiar voice said, there was a sound of metal crashing on metal and glass breaking and then stomping footsteps. Dick was scooped up into Alfred's arms within a few seconds, the man kneeling down on the ground and pulling him into a hug.

"Sir, you're scaring him."

Batman's white eyes widened and the man moved back a few steps, moving into light, dim light, but light nonetheless. The cowl was, obviously, over his head and the black spandex cape was pulled over his shoulders, completely and effectively covering him. The shadows seemed to pull together and gravitate toward him. He watched as the butler comforted the boy, telling him everything would be alright and that there was nothing to be afraid of. Batman couldn't believe what he'd just done.

He hadn't realized that he was in his Batman costume until Dick turned around with the absolute most fearful and frightened eyes one could see. He hadn't realized what he'd done until it was to late and he'd already grasped Dick's arm. _"Please, let me go!" _Dick had begged and only then had Bruce realized what he'd done. He watched as Dick sobbed into the older British man's chest, letting all that bottled up fear flow out uncontrollably.

He moved forward and ignored Alfred's protests and kneeled down, holding out his arms. His features softened beneath the cowl as he stared at the boy.

Dick looked toward him, his eyes bloodshot. Bruce could see the child was nearly crumbling and it was all his fault. Of course it was, fate hates him and he it so life would just be a butt and make life hard and painful and difficult for him.

"Dick…" he stumbled, hoping the boy would recognize his voice. Obviously it didn't work, as a flicker of confusion flashed across his face and his muscles tensed, his arms gripping Alfred's arms with all he had. Deciding to go with a different approach, Bruce, not Batman's, hand moved up toward his cowl and he slowly slid it off.

Dick's eyes widened and the confusion disappeared from his face, being replaced by disbelief and utter shock. He stared at Bruce and slowly made his way into his arms, but he didn't bury his face into Bruce's chest, instead, he looked a bit angry.

"You… you could have saved them!" he shouted, a sudden burst of anger blowing out uncontrollably. "You were there… why… why didn't you… you save them." Dick collapsed onto his knees, tears flowing from his eyes as he broke lose from a hold he had grabbed onto. A hold that had kept him partially together once his parents had died. A hold that was now free of any burden. He didn't understand it. If Bruce had been there and if Bruce was Batman, why didn't he save them; why didn't he save the parents he loved so dearly. Still love so dearly. Dick had been taxed, in a way so much unlike any other, and they had taken the ultimate payment.

"Dick," Bruce whispered, grabbing the boy by the wrists and making him look at the older man. "If I could have saved them, I would have I can assure you of that. But I couldn't have and I wished I did, Dick. I really wished I did."

His words had double meanings.

And Alfred wished he could have saved them too.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

"I think we should go over there and kick some butt and take some names," Shayera said, frowning and twisting her mace in her hands; all the while looking at each founder.

Diana frowned and sat up, giving the Thanagarian an incredulous look. "Uh, no offence Shayera, but no. It's Batman's house and there's only two… no, sorry, three people living there at the moment. No many butts to kick or names to take."

Shayera huffed in annoyance and sat over with her arms crossed her chin resting on them. Diana and Clark gave her both exasperated looks and turned to face each other. Barry seemed to be uninterested in the whole conversation and was playing with something under the table. Martian Manhunter remained emotionless as he stared off into space and John was busy staring at whatever Barry was doing under the table.

"Waaait a sec!" Barry exclaimed, causing both John and J'onn to jump and stare at him. "Why did you say three? It's only good 'ole bats and Jeeves, isn't it? Or am I missing something?"

"Haven't you been reading the paper for, oh, I don't know, the last year?" Diana asked, infuriated with the red clad speedster. Barry frowned and opened his mouth but then closed it again and frowned some more. Not figuring out an answer to the accusation, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and turned out to face the open space.

"Well, I think we know the answer to _that _question," Shayera moaned, her head falling into he crossed arms on the table with a thump.

"Enough," J'onn said, "if you have not heard, _Bruce Wayne _adopted a ward; Richard Grayson. He did not tell us at first but both Superman and Wonder Woman found out. Correct?" He turned to face said heroes, who nodded as they stared at the Martian with wary eyes. Diana nodded but then turned back to face Flash.

"Yes, basically what J'onn said. We, Clark and I, have been worried about the fact that he's been neglecting League issues for the boy. I mean, don't get me started, that boy is a ball of utter adorableness, but the League is still important too-" her talk was interrupted by a buzzing sound. Diana frowned and pressed a button on the table, turning to face as a screen popped up with Batman on it. He looked wary, tired and seemed disappointed about something. He kept glancing upward like something would fall on him and crush him.

"Bruce?" Diana asked, surprised. Everyone turned to face the screen now and Batman snorted, as if to say 'Duh. Who else?'

"Diana… do you think you could come here for a bit… in your civilian clothes? Please."

Diana's eyes widened in mock concern. "Oh, you said 'please'. What happened, the world ending?"

Bruce glared at her and slipped off the cowl. He gave a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Everyone stared at the Dark Knight in shock, having never seen him so… broken… no, not broken, lost seemed like a better world. Bruce seemed at a loss for something to do, he didn't know _what _to do. They could see anger, anger in himself, and doubt in his eyes.

"Bruce," Diana said, her voice conveying worry, "what's wrong?"

"It's Dick. He… he found the Batcave-" he didn't pause for the gasps, "-and I found him. Sacred the living daylights out of him when he saw me. I… I didn't mean too. But he looks so lost now and when I took of the cowl… Princess, he screamed at me… asked me why I didn't save them. I just… need you here. He's ignoring me, he's mad at me. Come here, heck, all of you can come, I don't care. Just talk to him." The transmission ended and the holographic blue screen disappeared, leaving the view of space once more for the League founders to see.

Diana jumped up, looking fretful and worried. "I'll go. Dick… oh Hera, I hope Bruce is okay too."

Shayera nodded. "Yeah, he seemed pretty freaked out about having scared the kid."

Clark chuckled and turned to face the other alien, "Don't call him the kid, Bruce freaks out and don't tell me that he won't know you said it. He's Batman, he'll always know." Shayera shrugged in response and frowned as she watched Diana leave in a hurry. The princess of Themyscria rushed from the room with a frown on her face, the Amazon gripped her lasso with a tight grip as if she was afraid that someone would pop out and attack her.

She ran to the Zeta-beam transporters, rushing past other heroes. If Bruce was that worried about it, than she should be there.

_Recognize: Wonder Woman 03 _

The darkness of the Batcave greeted her, screeches of real bats filled her hearing and dim light filled her vision. Suppressing shivers, she moved forward, ringing her hands together as she moved to the computer. Batman, or Bruce, as the cowl was down, as standing by it, staring at the ground in thought.

"Bruce," she whispered, moving forward and putting a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. He shrugged her off, turning away and crossing her arms. She opened her mouth the speak but was cut off when he began speaking. His voice was empty and hollow… it reminded her of almost how he used to talk. She always imagined that was how he was after the incident. Hollow, alone, empty… a shell of Bruce Wayne.

"I… You should have seen his face Diana," he started but then turned to her, shaking his head, "No, actually, I hope you'll never have to see it. Diana, I scared him. I completely forgot that… at the moment, I was Batman. His eyes, Diana, they were so frightened. He cried… begged me to let go."

As she listened to this, she turned away from Bruce. Not because she was ashamed or mad at him, because she could face him. She knew he felt guilty to no end and now, after this, before this, she hadn't known how much he actually card for the kid… no, not the kid, for Dick. Diana new that he cared, obviously, as he spent more time at home than before. Before he had wanted to get away from home and now it seemed as if he didn't want to see the Watchtower.

"He stared up at me… he tried to get away. Diana… he was afraid of me. He began crying, scrambling to get away. I didn't realize it… until… until Alfred came. I could have saved them Diana but I didn't. I just stood there and watched like everyone else. But… but I'm not everyone else, Diana. I could have save them… he asked me when I pulled down the cowl. Why didn't I save them? Afraid of me…" his fist snapped out and punched the wall, leaving a small crack. "His face…," he whispered the last part, almost falling onto his knees; his legs were shaking and he mumbled something under his breath.

Diana stood there with slight awkwardness, letting a tension develop in the room. She stood there nervously and rubbed her arm, staring at the ground.

"Bruce?" she spoke up, her head lifting suddenly.

He didn't move, didn't make a sound, no notion to show that he heard her, yet she went on with no thought of turning back.

"He'll be fine. You did it before and you can do it again."

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

"Alfred… why didn't he save them?"

The butler looked down, his faded blue eyes conveying pity and sadness toward the boy. Dick was wrapped up in a wool blanket and he clutched it like his life depended on it. Peanut was wrapped up with him and tears ran down his face. It was all to familiar. That night… almost a year ago… he was sitting on a cold night, grey skies and flashing lights. He'd been lied too… fooled. But, he was only six… or seven now.

But… Bruce, the man he had come so close to seeing as a father figure, was Batman… and didn't even tell him. But, the thing that kept nagging his mind was why he didn't save them? His parents. He was there, one of the greatest superheroes of all time and he didn't save them. He could have, and Dick knew that, but he didn't. Why not?

Did he want them to die? Could he trust Bruce, no, Mr. Wayne now? No. No he couldn't.

"He wanted to Master Richard, he truly wanted to," Alfred said, setting a cup of hot-chocolate on the side table by the seat. They were situated back in that small library with the grandfather clock.

Dick frowned and turned away, glancing at the hot-chocolate and his grip tightening around Peanut. He looked away and out the window, his daze examining the moon with a meticulous eye. He thought about his mamă and what she would do. But he couldn't, he had only known her for six years of his life… but it felt so much longer. It felt like everyone memory was happy and those happy moments seemed to go on forever.

"Condu-mă familia mea," he muttered, knowing Alfred couldn't hear what he said. _Lead me my family. _

He needed someone to lead him.

* * *

"Bruce, if you want me to go and talk to him-" Diana started, watching as Bruce paced the Batcave floor.

"No… Princess, I'm sorry for calling for you here. I'll do it… Alfred's with Dick. I understand if he's not going want to see me… but… it had to be me."

Diana smiled, mission accomplished, and nodded toward him. She shifted her weight to her right leg and glanced toward the Zeta-beam. Bruce stopped to stare at her, waiting for her to exit the cave. Making no move, he walked over to her. Her attention snapped back to him and she grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry," Diana muttered and stepped in. Bruce could swear she winked at him just before disappearing in a flash of golden light. He sighed and walked toward another exit. He was taken up to his room, thinking of all the scenario's and conversations that could go on when he went to talk to Dick. He wasn't… afraid; nervous would have been a better word to describe the emotion he was feeling at the moment.

Now changed and ready to confront him, he moved down to where he suspected Dick and Alfred to be. He heard nothing but the sipping of hot chocolate (screw March) caught his attention. Moving forward he was greeted with a scene that he felt broke his heart. Dick was curled up in the chair, pulling a wool blanket close to his chin. Bruce saw a lump in which he figured was Peanut the elephant.

"Dick," he muttered, loud enough for both he an Alfred to hear.

The butler turned around and took a step back, giving a small bow. Dick turned around and his eyes widened when he saw Bruce. The boy leaned away slightly and turned away, staring at the picture of his parents.

"Bruce?" Dick spoke, his voice a soft whisper.

"Yes?"

"Do I… have to go back to the center?"

Bruce stared at him with wide eyes but the ebony haired child did not see it. He continued staring at the picture, tears coming to his eyes as he thought about the smile that was on his mothers face in the picture. Why would Dick think that? Bruce could never put him in the center, nor any other kid. Except, of course, those who he caught robbing and stealing.

"No."

"Good… because I don't want to go back."

* * *

**Review? **

**Things are going to start picking up from here too. Yay! **

_**Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.  
**_**- Dr. Seuss **


	11. Chapter 11: A Bird's Revenge

**Next chapter! The reason for such a late update was because I had writers-block. It's sucks. 'Nuff said. And I sat in front of the computer for two hours just **_**thinking **_**of something to write. **

**Warning: The 'K' key really doesn't work on my mother's keyboard so if you see a word that should have a K and doesn't, please don't point it out. It wors if I press it really hard though… I'm just lucky right now…**

**Also, I use a curse word in the first part! Please forgive me! Okay, I actually used a few curse words. Rating on this is going up to T but only because of MINOR language. **

**Oh and thank you CHiKa-RoXy for a wonderful idea! THANKS! **

**Warning: This chapter is going to be very heartwarming… grab a tissue. And there is a MAJOR fight scene. **

_**From the outside looking in you can never understand it. From the inside looking  
out you can never explain it.**_**- Greek Quote **

* * *

**Chapter 11: **

* * *

For the past week since finding out, Dick stayed secluded and locked up in his room.

The now soft-spoken boy did not come out for meals; merely opening his door fro food and drink when Alfred offered it to him. The butler tried to get him to come out, coaxing him with kind, gentle words of going out into the gardens or eating something with Bruce. Dick prominently refused the offers. Bruce came often to check on him, but the boy simply ignored the man at his door; seething in his new discovery.

Both Alfred and Bruce new that the young acrobat would come out eventually, his outspoken demeanor would shine through, he couldn't handle not being near people. But, sadly enough, for now he seemed to be driven to stay in his room. Neither Diana nor Clark could get him to come out either and eventually (meaning by Wednesday) they gave up by telling Bruce to give him time. Giving time required having patience.

Bruce Wayne wasn't exactly the most patient man, when he told people to do something he expected it to be done ASAP. So, right now, dealing with a boy who was used to people being soft and kind and gentle and patient with him… Bruce was absolutely clueless. Of course, he remembered how his mother was to him; speaking in hushed tones when he was scared or sad. But how could he, the damn _Batman, _show kindness to the boy?

Apparently according to Alfred at least, he'd done a good job… slightly. But even then so he hadn't been there for Dick like he wanted. Busy as Batman or as Bruce Wayne. He had work with the League and civilian work in Gotham. He'd stay home as much as he could with the boy when League things came up but other than that, he would have to leave.

"Sir, would you perhaps go up and invite him for dinner? He hasn't eaten any lunch; I'd rather not let the young Master starve," Alfred's voice pierced through Bruce's thoughts and the younger mans head snapped up from the newspaper he was reading about a robbery; one that he would solve tonight… hopefully.

"Huh? Oh, uh, sure. Alfred…" his voice faded and the butler gave him a look of pity.

"I know Master Bruce, I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

Bruce nodded and stood up from the dining room table, the massive oak wood chair slid back against the wood floors with a short screeching noise. Alfred shot Bruce a hard accusing look, but the man merely ignored it as he slipped out of the Dining Hall and toward the Grand Staircase.

He had no idea (something which he hated) about what to say. Or if Dick would even open the door to let him in. He trudged up the staircase, gripping the silk like handle with hard hands. The paintings he passed seemed to taunt him; their bright mixture of colors with darkened clouds and rays of sun matched the exact mood of the house.

He turned down one hall and then went up another stairway, passing the paneled walls without even really noticing what was going on. His legs steered him without a thought toward the boys door, the soft wood gleamed in the grey light that flooded through windows, their mixture of grey and brown creating a soft effect of restfulness. He heard rain pattering down on the windows with small pining sounds, yet didn't acknowledge it. He heard thunder, but didn't hear it. He saw the lightning, but didn't see it. All his thoughts were on Richard.

His son.

Of course, Bruce thought of him as a son. Dick was going to be as close as he would get. He knew he would never legally be his son, Dick wouldn't allow it, and neither would Bruce. He knew that if he offered to adopt him one day, Dick would refuse. His ties to his parents were to big for that.

He reached toward the door, eyes trained on the iron handle, but then remembered that it was locked. He sighed for Dick, wishing that he hadn't found out. He wasn't supposed to. He couldn't.

_But he did_,a voice reminded him in the back of his head.

_Shut up_, he told it and then knocked loudly on the floor.

For a few short moments, there was nothing. The rain was the only sound as it echoed through the narrow halls, the reverberating sound rang through his thoughts and he waited, hoping, that the door would at least crack open.

But, alas, no such luck. Not even the sound of feet moving on the bare wooden floor came through. Bruce sighed, knowing that his small chance of hope was feeble, but once again knocked on the door. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. But nothing happened and then…

With a small whoosh of wind Bruce saw blue eyes peek out from behind the door, which was now slightly ajar.

"Bruce? Can you come in?"

Bruce stared at Dick for a few moments but then snapped out of it. He gave a faint nod and the door opened slowly. The rain began to beat down faster as Bruce stepped in the grey lit room, light streamed through the velvet curtains. The curtains were drawn open, letting the room flood with light. A desk off to the side was littered with papers, some crumpled and some were smoothed over the wood. Bruce only got a quick glance at them when a hand wrapped around his large one and a small force began to pull him toward the bed.

He looked down, slightly surprised, wondering why all of a sudden Dick was suddenly being, only a tad bit, more interactive. He was forced to sit down on the bed and Dick sat next to him. For just a few moments neither said anything, just listening to the rain and to the nothingness that echoed and reverberated through the room.

"Bruce, I wanna talk," a very small but diplomatic voice said beside him. Bruce almost barked a laugh at how much Dick sounded like those politicians' on TV; all business. Honestly, the voice didn't fit the boy at all. When he had first met Dick, the boy was happy and full of life and this political/diplomatic voice didn't fit him.

"Alright," Bruce replied, "then lets talk. What do you want to talk about?"

Dick turned to look at him, blue eyes piercing into his, almost as if Dick were looking into his eyes into his soul, as if Bruce's eyes were open doors.

"Zucco."

* * *

**Two days earlier, once week after Dick found out; March 28th 2:46 A.M, Gotham City **

* * *

Batman lay low from his position on a roof.

His covered eyes stared down coldly on the bar that was across the street. He had had a lead that this was a place Tony Zucco generally 'hung out' as the thug he had interrogated had said. His parent's killer had never been caught and he didn't want Dick to deal with that same thirst for revenge. He knew it was boiling under Dick's skin, and when it burst in a curdling screech, it would be to late.

A warm spring wind blew back in his face and his scowl hardened. He didn't like warm summer breezes, or bright meadows, or the sun in his face. He didn't like warmth. Warmth reminded him of the way his mother would comfort him when he was scared. Her voice soft like bells, like wind chimes that blew on the houses in villages in France. His father's voice deep like water, churning like in the canals in Venice, Italy. He closed his eyes and shook his head; the need to concentrate was to great to be thinking of his past. His dead past.

His eyes trained on the dilapidated building, the red flickering sign read 'Vixens Irish Pub'. He wasn't sure what kind of Irish name 'Vixen' was, but he sure as hell didn't care. It had a dancing Beer and Wine bottle on the front, smiling as their feet flickered back and forth. The Pub was on the intersection of Dung Beatle Street and Maple Avenue, which was on the south end of the city. If Anything, Gotham City was like Chicago Mafia mixed with New York crime mixed with South Boston mixed with an Asylum**[1]**. Batman seemed to be the only one who could handle that level of insanity, both with the insane criminals' and with the level of the crime rates; which were, not in the literal sense, insanely high.

"Did 'ya hear? The Bat be lookin' for Zucco," a voice said below him. Batman leaned over the edge slowly, keeping to the shadows, his meticulous eye catching two men walking down the street. A car zipped by, going far over the speed limit. The two men yelled curse words, jumping out of the way as it swerved and almost hit them. A peel of laughter echoed from the car and off the buildings, high pitched and full of mean delight.

"Stupid caa'. Yeah, I heard. Poor guy; he'll never make it," the second voice snorted in laughter and both men continued walking down the road, laughing like the morons they were.

Batman scowled and shoo his head, his arm snapping out with his grappling gun and shooting it toward the nearest, highest building he could find. The hook pulled him forward with a strong force and he swung forward toward the roof of the Pub and unhooked the grappling gun; his momentum allowed him to keep moving and with the way he projected the gun, he landed on the roof with a tuck and a forward roll. Landing in a crouched position he stood up, creating a small swoosh of his Kevlar cape.

Batman turned, noticing the entrance to the roof, and moved toward it stoically, his shadow cast over the roof from the Quarter Moon. He grasped the door knob and twisted, much to his luck and none to the villains, it was left unlocked and he was able to get through without having to kick it down and have any alarms go off, which 'would have been a major bummer' according to the Flash.

Batman walked down the stairway, passing photos from the 40s, 50s and 60s of men playing pool or sitting on the bar of watching a Baseball game. If anything, it showed the history of the Pub. The pictures stopped once they started to get to hippy looking. Batman heard laughter as he approached the first floor, passing down an empty third and fourth he assumed they were off limits.

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs, made of wood, and it was left slightly ajar, allowing him to get a good look. Men crowded around Pool tables, smoking cigars and drinking, some were energy drinks and some were 'happy' drinks. The men laughed, some staggered around like they'd been spinning in circles.

Batman's eyes narrowed and he shook his head, disgusted. He couldn't help it; it was pretty bad. This was why Dick shouldn't have found out.

"Who wanna hear a song!" a man yelled, having climbed up onto a table. A beer bottle was gripped tightly in his hands and a sly, cocky smile grazed his face.

A few of the men cheered, pumping up their fists and the few more sober ones turned around and continued to play their games. The man on the table let out a whoop of laughter and almost fell down onto the wooden floors. And then he began to sing, his rough, coarse voice rang throughout the Pub.

"_A yellow bird, with a yellow bill; was sitting on, my window sill! I coaxed it in, with bits of bread; and then I smashed, his little head! The moral of, the story is; if you like bread, then watch your head!"_

All of the men cheered, lifting up glasses full of the brown/bronze liquid and cheering, letting out whoops of contained laughter. The air reeked of nasty breath and sweat. The flickering lights in the room where the men where situated seemed to grow fainter.

Batman looked around the room, hoping to spot Zucco. Seeing nothing, he sighed, thinking of how this would go 'the heard way'. He slammed open the door and threw out five smoke pellets. They exploded the grey gas moving through the room. People began to cough and a man called out when he saw Batman dash into the smoke, but he fell to the ground.

"The Bat!" another called out and lunged at Batman; he dodged and his elbow came back down on the mans back, causing him to fall on the ground. He kicked him in the ribs and heard a small cracking sound and a cry of pain. Another man came out and this time Batman recognized him; it was the man who sung the bird song. The man grinned, showing yellow teeth, and slid his sleeves up his arm, showing muscles that showed he could have been on steroids. The Bird man threw a fist and Batman dodged it, his cape billowing after him. Bird man growled and spun around, only to be greeted with fists of fury. Batman jabbed at weak spots and then walked over the now paralyzed man who lay on the floor; his eyes wide and regretting his decision.

Men had already scurried from the building, some running out the front and some running out the back and some out the stairs. A few were hiding and as the smoke clear Batman loomed over the entire room.

"Zucco. Where is he?" he snarled, his voice echoed around the room and entered everyone's thoughts. Men tried to keep themselves hidden the shadows, but the shadows obeyed only one man. That man just happened to be their enemy.

He snatched a scrawny man, the bartender, who had been attempting to scurry away and threw him up against the wall. "Where is he? Where is Zucco?" he growled, voice low and deafening.

The man whimpered and gulped, turning his foggy green eyes toward the floor. "I… I don't know!"

"Not._ Enough_. DAMMIT ANSWER ME!"

The man shrunk back, and squeezed his eyes shut, the brown jacket Batman was gripping seemed to shrink and choke him. He blinked and gulped once more before speaking, "He… he was here a few days ago; Said he was going to an old hideout. I swear that's all I know!"

"You're lying. Answer me!"

"Dawnos! Andrew Dawnos! That's all he gave me! He said a man named Andrew Dawnos could give him a place!"

Batman threw him against the floor and shook his head, thinking of how pathetic it all was. But now he had a name. A lead. Something he could use to track down the Grayson's killer.

Their murderer.

* * *

**Present Time **

* * *

Bruce blinked, wondering how this had come up.

Dick had gone from probably loathing him to wanting to talk about his parents killer with him. He wasn't sure if Dick trusted him, but he needed someone to go down the broken road. But talking about it didn't help like people said it did, it brought back images, memories. Pain, loss, happiness, joy, and pain again. A desperate need to get them back, to go back to your former life and stay there. Basking in what used to be.

"Dick, about Zucco-"

"I know you're going after him. Don't; that's a job for me," the boy almost growled, his voice low and deep as he looked at Bruce through thick lashes. His blue eyes stared up at him with an unlimited amount of emotion. One could see his hate for Zucco, how much he despised him when the name was brought up. The way that he would shake with anger when he would think of the man. Bruce vaguely wondered if this was how he had acted when he thought about his parents killer, the man who ruined a child's life. The man who was never brought to justice.

"Dick, there was this…. quote that my mother would tell me sometimes, before she died," Bruce started but then hesitated, unsure of what to say now. Should he continue? It wasn't like he could back out now. The rain battered the windows, fading in and out of his hearing. He remembered his mothers soft voice as he lay in bed one night, the covers pulled up to his chin and eyelids slowly fluttering shut, only to snap back open when the realization that he was falling asleep came on.

Bruce looked straight at his son, who was still staring at him, and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Dick didn't protest but his body stiffened. "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go... So be sure when you step, step with care and great tact. And remember that life's A Great Balancing Act. And will you succeed? Yes! You will indeed! (98 and percent guaranteed)."

Dick looked away and gave a small smile, his blue eyes watering. "Thank you Bruce, mamă used to say that when I was youngerer. She would make silly voices and laugh and smile when I was tucked up in bed… but…" his voice faded and he slipped off the bed and running toward the desk. His striped blue pajamas were slightly to big and fell over his feet. He had a pair of white socks on and a few feet from the desk he slid over, posing quickly and then grabbing a piece of paper from the desk. He spun on his heels and ran back over, slipping over the polished wood. He sighed deeply once he reached Bruce and then hand the piece of paper, which was faced down and grabbed his hand. Slipping the piece of paper into his hand he took and step back and put his hands behind his back.

"Whats this?" Bruce asked, glancing down at the paper in confusion.

"Something. Am făcut acest lucru pentru tine... I mean I made this for you," Dick said, giving Bruce a small smile.

Bruce frowned and slowly turned the picture over. It was a picture of the Iris flowers that were given to him in front of a pencil drawn moon. All of it was in pencil, shaded and evened out along the thick drawing paper. The two flowers were almost perfectly proportioned on the stems, the wrinkly leaves lay over the shining pot.

"Did you… draw this?" he asked in disbelief, surprised that a seven year old could draw so well. Dick nodded and stared down at the floor in what looked like to be shame. He shifted nervously but Bruce could tell he wasn't lying when he told him that he drawn it himself. Then what was wrong?

"Yes… Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks… for going after Zucco."

It was to bad that Bruce couldn't tell he was lying. When Richard was determined to do something, he was going to do it.

* * *

**April 1st 8:00 P.M Gotham City Memorial Graveyard **

* * *

Dick stood over his parents graves, two red roses over his mother and fathers headstones.

_Mary Grayson _

_Beloved Mother and Friend _

_A true Flying Grayson _

His eyes wandered over to his fathers and his eyes scannd over the gravestone.

_John Grayson _

_Beloved Father and Friend _

_Always believed in flying _

A tear rolled down his cheek and he closed his eyes, turning away slightly. His hands were crossed in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out and he snapped it shut, unsure of what to say. Yet unspoken words hung in the cool, crisp April air. He smiled, thinking of old times. Times of joy, happiness. Not of regal, looming, dark essences.

He sighed and thought about they're last day together; how Zucco had taken it all away from him. His fist clenched with fury and he turned away. For two minutes he stood so, with his back toward their graves. And then he relaxed and turned back toward them, tears falling free. He fell to his knees, shaking in sadness and anger. His eyes were closed tight, trying to get away from a reality he was forced to live in.

"I… I miss you," he whispered, voice soft and gentle but empty and for lone. A whispered wind passed by, blowing his ebony hair away from his face, cooling the tear tracks on his cheeks.

He stood up shakily and stared at the stones with a seemingly lost gaze.

"Zucco… he's going to pay. And I'm going to make him."

* * *

**One Week Later 2:36 P.M **

* * *

Dick's blue cobalt eyes snapped open, instantly being greeted with the top of his canopy bed.

His eyes narrowed and he threw the covers of himself; defiance radiated off him like waves. His bare fit his the polished floor and he moved toward his dresser, the empty space between the bed and it was as big as his former abode. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the costume his mother had made him for their show. A red tunic top and green pants. A black circle with a little yellow 'R' decorated the right side of the red tunic. He smiled slightly and then put it back in; just a small remembrance to his mother. Pulling on jeans and a t-shirt he quickly threw off his pajamas and dumped them on the floor.

Once finished he moved toward the door and carefully twisted the iron handle, pulling it open to only be greeted with a dark hallway. He stepped out and carefully then closed the door behind him, blue eyes bouncing back and forth down the hall.

He crept down the hall, keeping to the shadows, and moved carefully down the staircase; his soft footsteps made no sound. He moved over the marble floors like soft, cool ocean winds that danced over the sand at midnight. He walked up another staircase and down the hall to the grandfather clock with the Batcave underneath. Walking past a tapestry he smiled, remembering when he had hidden behind it. The velvet chair was still there and the Gotham Skyline flowed through the window, the moonless night allowed darkness to seep into the corners.

He walked toward the clock and pulled the pendulum down. The clock fell through the floor, not literally, and the steel elevator appeared. Dick rushed in, hoping the sound wouldn't wake Alfred or Bruce, and waited for the door to close. The elevator rushed down toward the naturally made cave under Wayne Manor much faster than a regular one. Once it opened, Dick walked out, glancing around to make sure Bruce wasn't there, or Batman. Finding nothing, he surged toward the Batcomputer.

A few files were already open and his eyes scanned for a file. Zucco. There it was, sitting on the bottom left hand side of the screen. His eyes narrowed and he clicked on it. The file opened and it showed a picture of Zucco. Notes that Bruce had written popped up. As Dick studied them his eyes narrowed further. Clicking out of the file, he stood up and walked toward the Weapons Arsenal. Picking out a Batarang, he walked back toward the elevator; names and addresses in mind.

Along with anger and revenge.

* * *

…

**My explanation/excuse: I had writers block. **

**Review? **

**_Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies_. - Aristotle**


	12. Chapter 12: I'm sorry

**Wow. **

**I left you on a major cliff hanger there… **

**My apologies. **

**Here we go? **

**Guys… we're almost close to the end here. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Chapter is dedicated to: theotakuprincessofgotham Because she reviewed on my first story on Fictionpress and was the first reviewer. So thanks again. Here you go. :) **

* * *

Transferring from life with his parents to life with Bruce Wayne had been like crossing into a different dimension. Going to that wood between the worlds… and into a new place full of wonder and excitement… but sadness and fear too.

A wood between the worlds…

* * *

Tony Zucco placed his feet up on the couch, grinning sadistically as he popped a beer and took a few gulps.

Flicking on the TV, he settled in the small apartment room in South Gotham that an old buddy of his, Andrew Dawnos, had acquired for him. The plaid couch was stained with coffee and other drinks, and stank horrifically in the absent air conditioning, the heat from spring making it smell like a common Gotham garbage can. A fan blew on his face, which didn't help the smell, but it refreshed him to some point.

Batman couldn't find him here, and since the _idiot's_ pride was to much, he wouldn't get another, real super powered hero, look for him. It was good that the Bat didn't have a partner, or else Gotham's underworld would be doomed. He frowned at this thought and sipped some more of his beer, turning up the volume on a wrestling match on the television. It was far more interesting than his thoughts.

He cheered them on, going for whoever got the upper hand at that moment. The Batman lay forgotten in his mind as the night went on, and soon it led far into the morning. He was still up, no longer a little sober, at around two in the morning. His eyes were fogged over, and he whimpered everytime the person he was rooting for got punched, as if he were the one fighting. The light in his room flickered and for a moment the power went off. With a cry of outrage he threw an empty bottle against the peeling wallpaper and then growled at the lamp. It came back on a few moments later and he grinned, obviously proud of himself.

He laid back down on the couch, shifting a brown pillow to support his head. Little did he know that a kid was waiting right outside his door, with a lethal weapon in his hand, revenge dripping off from his very core.

* * *

Bruce's eyes flickered open.

For some reason, he felt the need to go to the Batcave. Maybe Alfred was right and he should just get a regular hobby… like golfing.

…

Na.

Bruce sat up and threw off the covers, moving toward the door with a fast set pace. He moved the door open quickly and stomped down the staircase, hoping that he wasn't waking Dick and Alfred. Dick seemed to sleep like a rock and Alfred was used to it. He ran toward the library, past he tapestry and toward the entrance to the Batcave. For some reason, his heart began to beat faster and time moved slower, he wished the elevator was faster, his index finger tapped repeatedly against his leg. Impatience flooded him and he rushed into the steel elevator. The doors closed and he sped out once the doors slid open once more.

He ran toward the Batcomputer and froze when he saw the screen, a groan escaped his lips and he growled as he pivoted, turning toward his Batman costume. Snapping on his utility belt he heard the elevator open and someone step out, most likely it being Alfred he ignored it. Once he'd heard the older mans voice he relaxed.

"May I ask, dear sir, what you are doing?"

"Look at the Batcomputer, Dick was on it. He searched Zucco, he's going after him. I know it. Now I have to go and stop him before he gets hurt… or he hurts Zucco," he replied, nodding toward the Batcomputer with a pointed look. The butler's eyes widened and he turned, inspecting the computer with a wary look. Shaking his head, he moved forward and grabbed the cape, helping Batman, or Bruce considering the cowl wasn't on, put it on. Once that was finished, Bruce pulled the cowl over his head and the lenses over his eyes narrowed and he became the Dark Knight.

Alfred moved back, even feeling a tad intimidated by the caped man and watched as he jumped down into the Batmobile, which it so kindly had been dubbed by the people of Gotham City. He sighed one the man had left, turning and walking back toward the computer and sitting down at the chair; he knew his surrogate son would need some help finding _his _son. He smiled softly to himself, silently thinking of their makeshift family.

* * *

Dick felt himself breathe carefully, his eyes trained on the brown, wooden door in front of him.

Nothing could stop him now, not Bruce nor Batman. Thoughts of his parents swirled in his head and his lust became even worse. His vision tinted red and adrenaline pumped through his body when he thought of lay behind that door. It had been surprisingly easy finding the hotel, having lived in Gotham for a while he had come to know the streets like the back of his hand, considering he had a photographic memory.

His eyes narrowed and his hands gripped the Batarang firmly, his lips were tight in a frown, twitching ever so slightly, his acrobatic reflexes coming into play and disagreeing with the stillness he had positioned himself into. He blinked once and realized he was still standing in front of the door. He heard the TV from the inside, a wrestling match obviously from the sounds that emitted from it. He heard a few occasional grunts from Zucco, but other than that the hall was completely silent.

He hadn't thought of a way to get in, and, stuck, he stood there with no way in. He almost growled to himself and, looking around for a way in, he decided the best way to in was to knock. Now, this might not have been the _best _way in, but it was his only option. And he wasn't about the let a door stop him. Yeah, on the twelfth of _never. _

He quietly knocked on the door. There was nothing, not even the volume of the television went down. There was no movement and Dick scowled. Once more, he tried again, a little more loudly. This time he got the response he was searching for; the TV volume went down and he heard grumbling and footsteps. He dashed to the right of the door and slipped up against the wall. The door opened, all the way, and Tony Zucco stood in the frame, glancing around with his different colored eyes for the person who knocked. Dick slipped in, the shadows helping him in everyway and he hid in a closet that was left partially open.

There was little light in the apartment room, most of it coming from a dusty lamp and the blaring TV. Some came from the window, which was situated right by a flickering street light. Dick curled up and waited for the man to pass him and sit on the musty old couch. Zucco wore a pair of ratty old designer pants and white dress shirt, a pair of loafers were strewn by the couch and the man wore grey socks. His grayish, white hair was mussed up and sticking up at odd angles, a few age lines crinkled his forehead and he was skinny, but it was the same man from before.

Dick's eyes narrowed and he leaned a bit out to get a better look.

Zucco was back on the couch, sipping his beer and snarling at the TV. Dick stared at the man disgustedly, shaking his head slightly as he watched. He just needed a little longer, he was brave, sure, but that didn't stop him from being slightly nervous. He needed to do this, the carry out the revenge for his parents. The lust to do so was to large to ignore. The thirst for revenge clouded his judgement and he swore to himself he'd carry it out before the night was over.

Carefully, he stepped out into the darkness and stood up in the shadows. He flicked the Batarang open and the sound of metal sliding open made it toward Zucco's ears and he slowly turned his head.

* * *

Batman raced down the streets of Gotham, his thoughts swirling of some of the things Zucco could to do Richard.

He shook his head, trying to get the thoughts out of his head. He sped up, weaving in and out of the Gotham City traffic. His eyes darted around, looking for the exit toward South Gotham, thinking about how it would have been much easier for him to take the rooftops. Sadly enough.

"Alfred, why is traffic going even slower?" he growled into the head speaker in his cowl, his voice rumbling deeply. Alfred gave a small sigh and Batman heard clicking in the background.

"Accident-"

Batman growled softly.

"-on One and Fifth street. I'd recommend turning into an ally sir and traveling by rooftops."

Yeah, he should have done that sooner. He sighed and turned the volume on the comm. link down. He spun the car into an ally, jumping out after cloaking it with a new technology. As long as no one walked down the ally, it would look empty. If anyone did, it would like they'd pumped into a big hunk of metallic air.

He took out his grappling hook and, pointing it into the night, and disappeared into the shadows as he was lifted up and headed toward South Gotham**[1]**.

* * *

Zucco frowned, sitting up and turning toward the sound of the sliding metal. The glint caught in his eyes and he narrowed them, attempting to peer into the dark. "Who's there?" he gargled, sitting up and grabbing an empty beer bottle.

No sound emitted from the dark, no foot steps. Nothing came, but that glint of silverish metal kept getting caught in the corner of his eyes. Unable to find anything, and actually slightly afraid to move into the shadows, Zucco laid back down on his couch, shifting to get into the most comfortable position he could find. Then, there was the crack of floorboards. He sat straight up, head slowly turning toward the noise. A foot stepped into the light. It was small, and it made a muted whisper against the wood floors. Dust curled up and from the foot came a leg and from that leg and body and from that body… came a head.

It was a small boy, with bright cobalt blue eyes. In his hand was a sort of lethal weapon, one Zucco had never seen before, and he gripped it like his life depended on it. He wore a pair of simple jeans and a Superman t-shirt. He wasn't barefoot but his Walmart shoes were old and scruffy, like they gone through mud, trees, dirt and water. Zucco could swear he'd seen him before, but… he couldn't pinpoint it exactly. The paper maybe? It was on the tip of his tongue… why couldn't he remember?

"You," the boy said, his voice low… most likely the boy was around seven or eight years old. Zucco couldn't really tell.

Zucco stood up, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared down at the boy. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Get out!" he yelled, snatching an empty glass bottle from the floor. He smacked it against his hand threateningly and stepped forward. The boy seemed the hesitate but he didn't back down, staring up at Zucco with wide eyes.

"I gotta say, kid," Zucco chuckled, shaking his head with a slight smirk on his face, "you got guts, I'll give you that, kid. Now, how 'bout you get out of my apartment, and we'll forget all about this?"

The boy hesitated once more, looking like he was almost about to turn around but then he stiffened and glared at Zucco, shaking his head. A scowl with firmly placed on his face, and Tony had a feeling that it shouldn't belong there. But then again, what did he care? It wasn't his problem. But the kid was staring to annoy him. How did he even get in anyway. The door was locked… unless, the tiny thing snuck in when he heard a knock on the door and answered it. He knew something was suspicious about that.

"Why did you do it?" the boy asked (who was he?), gripping the sharp weapon tightly.

"Do what?" Zucco questioned, confused.

"Why did you kill my parents?"

It suddenly hit Tony Zucco why he recognized the kid. It was Richard Grayson, the boy whose parents had been taken away from because Zucco himself had sabotaged their circus act. He grinned sadistically, eyes crazed with laughter, his breath reeking with alcohol. He smirked, the thought of getting rid of the kid to seemed to make him happy. Get it over with. He didn't have anyone, he was worthless. A useless lump that would never be needed in society. He smiled ruefully at the idea and his right hand shot out, causing the bottle to hit against the wall. Shards of glass fell to the ground, clashing on the ground with cracks that pierced the air. Richard jumped from the sound and sunk back slightly. Zucco smirked, taking a step toward the boy, an evil grin on his face.

Richard's cobalt eyes seemed black as he stared at the man the loomed over him, the shadows in the rim of his vision seemed to move closer. He wasn't going to be afraid. He wasn't. He refused to. A smirk grazed his lips as he thought about getting his revenge. No need to be afraid.

He flipped out the Batarang and threw it at Zucco.

* * *

Batman jumped up on the ledge of the roof, staring at the ratty apartment building that held Tony Zucco and most likely… his son.

Bruce, not Batman, shook his head. What was Dick getting into? If Zucco's reputation was as bad as the criminal underworld said… he had a problem. He only hoped Dick would cower out but since he'd been performing death-defying acts since he was two or three, this would be the same thing. Different concept in a way, but the same thing. Still, Zucco didn't hesitate to kill. This was obviously shown in the death of John and Mary Grayson.

He jumped out, flipping in the air and rolling onto the roof of the apartment.

He burst down a stairway that led into the building, not even bothering to check to see if it was lock or unlocked. He knew the exact room where Zucco was…

He was scared to see what was behind it.

* * *

Zucco dodged (rather sluggishly from the alcohol) the Batarang. It lodged itself in the wall with a large _thwack! _Dick stared at it triumphantly but then turned to Zucco, who was seething in anger. His eyes were bloodshot and he stared down at the boy with anger seething from them. He took a step toward the boy, his hand shooting out to grasp Dick's shoulder. The boy cried out, flinching from the hard hold on his shoulder.

Zucco gripped the bottle tighter, glancing down as the sharp glass that was left from being smashed against the wall. It glinted in the poor light, dimly shining in his eyes. Just as he was about to smash the bottle in the boys head, a tremor hit the building. A large echo reverberated through, like steel hitting wood, and the lights shook momentarily. Both of them looked up as it ended.

Before Dick turned to look back at the man looming over him, Zucco smashed the bottole against his head.

The boy fell on the ground, blood blooming from his forehead. The red liquid ran down from his temple and his hand flew up to where the pain emitted. He gingerly touched it, flinching away from the pain it caused him, and brought his hand down. He looked at the blood on it curiously, as if it fascinated him.

_Falling in the black…_

Zucco growled happily, pleased with this outcome. He glanced around the small apartment, eyes landing on a toolbox by the kitchen. He moved toward it, shuddering and moving in a very uncoordinated way. He grabbed the first thing he saw; a rusty old hammer.

_Slipping through the cracks…_

Dick shuddered as he saw it, moving against a wall as his head throbbed from the pain in his temple. He stared at Zucco, eyes wide as he noticed the hammer. The rust was a bit bad and the hammer's wooden handle looked damaged from water.

_Going to the depths till I never go back… _

Zucco walked forward, spinning the hammer in his hand. His one blue eye and one brown eye clashed against his pale, sweaty skin, and his dark grey hair. Dick eyed it, a sinking feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach as he watched the much far older man come closer. It scared him. His eyes widened and the corner in the far end of the room seemed to be a very nice place right then. He lunged for it, his arms flailing as he huddled in the corner.

_Dreaming of the way it used to be…_

He wished for his parents. The way it used to be before they died. Before this man took them… before this man took Dick's own life. An overwhelming sense of fear and dread flooded through him when he closed his eyes to escape the image coming toward him. The corner, with bugs and grime and dirt, was his only escape.

_Can you hear me…? _

There was a loud boom and another Tremor went through the building. He heard yelling and a growl ripped through the room not soon after. Dick's eyes were squeezed shut tight and he curled up into the corner as far as he could. There was another yell and then someone thumping on the floor.

Suddenly, there was someone touching his cheek. He looked up slightly, eyes slowly opening.

Batman was in front of him, crouching in front of him. Dick stared up at the man, tears streaming down his face. Neither said anything for the longest time.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, and then:

"I'm sorry."

* * *

**[1]- Like South Boston... but worse. **

**Well, review. **


	13. Chapter 13: You're safe

**:) Hi.**

**I have no idea when Gotham was founded... so... bare with me. And, sorry for the shortness. This sucks. **

**There is nothing to fear, but fear itself- Some Presidant whose name has slipped my mind... **

* * *

**Chapter: 13**

* * *

The ride back was silent.

Batman had taken Zucco down and called the police, giving them more than enough evidence to say that he murdered Richard's parents. Gordon thanked him but when he turned around, Batman and the Batmobile were gone, two occupants taking up the inside. Neither said anything, letting the silence reign free. Dick fidgeted a lot, the blow to his side far worse than he was making it out to be. He couldn't sit back all the way and let his back contort to fit into the seat. Bruce stared straight ahead, not making a single move to do anything.

But, what could he say? I'm ashamed? He was, yet he wasn't. He was slightly proud that an eight year old could sneak into a forty year old man's apartment, let alone access the Batcave files without a problem. Then again, he'd left it up. A mistake on his part. He knew Dick had been thirsting for revenge, just as he had... did, even, but he didn't want his son to end up bitter and alone like him.

The boy, well, Dick was too different. His fate had too different as well.

"I am sorry," Dick mumbled from the car seat next to Batman, he mumbled something for the first time since the apartment. He shifted in the seat of the Batmobile, looking out of the windows to the passing buildings. Bruce glanced at him, unable to think of something to say. What was he to say? It seemed this question was popping up far too much. He wasn't good with dealing with people's emotions, he blocked almost everything out when his parents had died, anything to do with his emotions.

"It's okay, we'll talk about this later," Bruce managed to reply, glancing at Dick with cautious eyes. To say the least, he was also impressed, Dick was eight... and he'd taken a man far older than him. Sure, he'd lost... but he had no training. If he was trained, maybe he would be able to... help. No, Bruce told himself, Dick had to stay out of this life. A bitter, smug voice in the back of his head told him it was too late. The thrill, it was addicting. Just a little more, help a few more people, be a hero. The adrenaline rush that you got was enticing, you could feel your blood pumping through your veins as bullets rained down on you.

And he had seen where Dick had thrown the Batarang with such accuracy, it would make ninjas jealous. Odd analogy, but it was the best he could think of. Dick was good, better than most, a certainly worthy of being trained. No, he growled to himself, hands tightening on the wheel as the drove into the batcave 's secret entrance, he wouldn't do that. And no, he wouldn't let Dick go back to the orphanage.

He said he'd always be there. And there was no way, that promise was leaving.

As they entered the Batcave, Alfred stood there waiting for him. The British butler held a tray that had hot chocolate and a steaming wet washcloth. He watched as the lid of the car opened and Bruce got out, helping Dick undo the seat belt that kept him save.

The small boy climbed out, walking towards Alfred. He stopped a few feet away and then burst into tears. Both older men were at his side in an instant, asking him what was wrong. It was quite obvious, truly, on what was wrong, but both men were worried for the small boy, who bright blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

"Dick, it's alright, you're fine, you're safe," Bruce said, pulling him into a hug., surprising both Alfred and Richard.

The words 'you're safe' rang in Dick's head, he blinked, looking over Bruce's shoulder as the man grasped him tightly. He felt... warm, and he felt safe. Bruce wasn't mad at him, sure, he may be disappointed, but he was... proud. It was an odd sense of pride, that Bruce had, but Dick could feel it in the hug. It was positively grand.

"Thank you," Richard Grayson muttered, right into his second father's shoulder. Bruce rubbed his back comfortingly, smiling slightly as he stared at the steel floors, a warm feeling spreading through his stomach. The initial distrust that Richard had formed between them like a barricade had been taken down after that night. He was still wary of Bruce, and he still talked to his parents every night, but he liked the man better now. And now, Dick was thinking he could be a far better helper than ever.

_You're safe._

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Another Charity event was later that week. Dick was dressed up in the restraining piece of junk called a suit, his hair slicked back with gel and blue eyes bright with those questions that always haunted and roamed through his mind. He was paler, now, from that year of homeschooling and staying inside the Manor with Alfred. His skin still had that gypsy tan to it, though, and Dick often boasted to Bruce that he was far more handsome.

Bruce simply rolled his eyes.

They arrived to the event, which was something for the GCPD, a funding project or something, in a limo. News reporters from Metropolis, Gotham City, Star City and Washington took thousands of pictures. Richard shrunk back a bit and then compared it to the circus, realizing it was practically the same thing. He smiled nervously at first, giving small waves and then began to smile bigger. It was all a facade, Bruce had told him. He had to act like he was fitting into life as a rich child. Personally, he knew his mother wouldn't approve, but he decided that it was alright if it was supposed to be fake, even if he was told he always should be himself. Well, he was, just not in front of these people.

So far, everything was grand.

The building was old, with French architecture, and it had gargoyles, as did most of Gotham's older building, which were snarling and growling at the other stone buildings. The windows were the old kind which distorted everything in view and the had carvings of ivy all around them. Written in stone above everyone's head, the sign said, "House of Liberties Est. 1756", it was old, almost as old as Gotham itself, which was established 1748.

They walked into a grand open room with marble floors and a chandelier made of crystal hanging from the ceiling. People in elegant clothing holding champagne glasses laughed delicately, their smiles so obviously fake. Many of the people were in their police uniforms, though none of them were drinking. A few women walked up to Bruce and began to talk to him, getting closer with every minute. Richard always looked the other direction, scowling. Bruce would politely excuse himself, winking toward Richard, and then walked off to talk with a few of the officers.

Eventually, Richard wandered over to a table full of small and elegant desserts, along with drinks that were non-alcoholic. He scrunched his nose up at a women with puffy pink lips who tried to talk to him and then walked away once he'd open his mouth to reply.

"Don't bother," another lady said, walking over, "they're all too egotistical anyway, kid."

The woman had black hair and dark, navy blue eyes. She was wearing a silver dress, which reached to the floor. It hung on her shoulders with thin straps, but she looked elegant. The smile on her face was mischievous, and the way she held herself showed that she could take care of herself. He liked the way she had said 'they're' as if she herself was not included in that.

Richard nodded, knowing exactly was egotistical meant, and looked up at the lady. Her dress fitted her nicely, but he still thought his mother was far more beautiful.

"I figured," he retorted, shrugging, "they all ignore me anyway. Why bother?"

She laughed gaily, obviously pleased with his response, and smiled down at him. "Sure are right kid, my name is Miss Kyle, by the way, and it was nice talking to you kid. You're gonna make it here. Just ignore all these smart-alecks and you'll do fine." And with that she was far into the crowd, leaving the boy slightly confused and irritated with how these people kept disappearing. He shook his head, frowning as he walked closer toward the table.

He felt someone bump into him and, jumping backward, he saw a girl with red hair and blue eyes looking down at him. Both he and the girl looked surprised to see one another and then her face brightened as she looked him over.

"You're Richard Grayson!"

He nodded weakly, smiling a bit. The girl was only ten or so and she was dressed in a nice purple dress. Her blue eyes were wide as she looked down at him.

"Yeah-" he began, but was cut off when she continued.

"You're that orphan kid!"

Her eyes widened once she realized that she said it and he stumbled back, looking surprised. His surprise soon turned to anger as he balled his fists and turned away. Her face turned apologetic but he shook her off.

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly, "that _orphan _kid."

He turned and began to walk away, not realizing that she had every intention of following and apologizing. Barbara Gordon stalked off and grabbed him by the wrist, spinning him around and looking at him full in the eyes. Dick blinked as he stared into her blue eyes, looking at them with his cobalt/azure ones. Neither of them said anything as people walked by, laughing and talking away as if they had nothing to worry about.

"I'm sorry," she admitted, smiling sheepishly down at the eight year old under her.

He shrugged, "Okay."

"That's it?" she asked, staring at him with narrowed eyes, "I just called you an orphan kid and that's how you reply? 'Okay'?"

"Yep."

"I like you, wanna hang out?"

"Sure."

Yes, things were certainly looking grand.

* * *

**I wrote this all in one day... **

**Review? **


	14. Chapter 14: Robin

**Wow... a month. I blame school... *grins sheepishly* Follow me on tumblr? No... okay. **

**To robgray1: Yeah... but it's fanfiction. And if you'd read the Authors Note in the beginning, you'd see my reasoning. I recommend reading everything before you say something.**

**Only the wisest and the stupidest of men never change.  
- Confucius**

* * *

Dick rushed into school, holding is books tight against his chest, his blue eyes flitting between all the older kids that loomed over him. Bruce had enrolled him in the dreaded private school. It had taken both him and Alfred to convince him to go. He wanted to continue homeschooling with Alfred but he was already passed his grade level by two grades and Alfred had "other things to do" than to sit and make sure he did his grammar correctly.

So here he was at Gotham Academy, school for the snobby and the rich.

He was trying to avoid all the Middle Schoolers and High Schoolers, at least, his light feet dancing in and out in between the hoard of students that stood around in their stiff uniforms, chatting and laughing. A few managed to see him, but brushed him off as unimportant and continued talking with their friends.

The courtyard itself was big. The school had three rectangle buildings that were all connected, creating three walls around a cobblestone yard. Giant arches stood out to the streets of Gotham, gargoyles sitting out in the front. Four patches of grass with multiple types of trees lay evenly spaced along the cobblestone, benches made of stone stood up against the huge oaks and maples.

He kept his eyes toward the ground and kept resisting the urge to scratch his gelled back hair that Bruce insisted on. It was stiff, hard and he preferred his hair hanging in his eyes. But no, couldn't have that! He had to look like a good rich little boy. He didn't have to act snobby but he had to act at least a little grateful. And he was, so the task wouldn't be so difficult. He wore a white button up shirt with a navy blue blazer, the school's emblem on the left. He wore Khaki slacks and nice, black dress shoes. He had referred to it as "the monkey suit". Anything that restricted his movements in anyway was dubbed as such.

"Hey! Richard!"

Dick froze for a split second, hesitation coming with the thought of whether or not he should turn around. A smile grazed his lips as he pivoted on his heels, eyes still facing the ground. He was almost to the front doors of the school, about twenty feet away, and yet Barbara Gordon stalked up to him with a smile on her face. Her red hair was tied back in a bun and her blue eyes shone brightly in the seven O'clock sun.

"I heard you were going to be here! Didn't know if I could spot 'ya!" she exclaimed, grasping his hand and pulling him toward a nearby bench, away from the doors. He glanced back at them, and then at her. She was chatting about the charity event where they had met. Sure, they hung out and he had even considered her a possible friend, but she acted as if they had been friends since forever.

"Yeah," he replied back weakly, "Bruce thought it would be good."

"Oh, he's brilliant that man, brilliant I tell you!" she laughed, throwing her head back and causing a few people to stare at them weirdly. He glanced around nervously; he had planned to not drag attention to himself.

"Barbara, I really should get going. Can I go?" he implored, his eyes flitting back toward the doors. She followed his gaze and then rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her face. He scowled, yes he liked Barbara, but she had to get a grip. He hated serious moments, sure, but he was trying not to drag attention to himself. Being raised in a circus didn't help and when everyone knew his name and pretty much what he looked like, Barbara wasn't being the most helpful person in the world to his cause.

"Please?" he begged, sliding his hand from hers. He was only eight but was bright enough to figure this out. The ten year old girl looked at him with pity and let out a "tsk, tsk" sound, while shaking her head. He stared at her, his eyes conveying confusion.

"Poor Dick, still hasn't figured out the ropes yet, has he?" she gave him a side hug and gestured to the courtyard of the school. "Don't worry, I'll show 'ya. What lunch you got?"

And so it was. The two would meet up at lunch everyday and finish eating early. Barbara would then show him something new everyday; the library, the gym, the Science Corridor, the Gymnastics gym (which she figured he'd like) and the Green House. They became good friends, often calling each other up. Barbara did not mind Dick's age and in fact enjoyed having him around. Her others friends could not comprehend why she would hang out with the circus boy and eventually ditched her all together. The girl brushed it off and continued to hang out with Dick.

They were the loners, the outcast. Barbara was "scholarship girl" and Dick was "circus freak" and "charity case". He was taunted continuously about how Bruce did not love him. He never listened. Of course, the boy was merely eight and the insults and taunts weighed him down. But he thought of his mother and kept going strong.

Until that one day.

He was walking the halls alone, as Babs was sick that day, and he held his books tight to his chest. His face was turned down toward the tiled floor and his eyes looked sad. He was remembering the one song his mother used to sing and it kept ringing in his head, over and over, the chorus of the song.

"Hey, circus freak!" One boy, Markus Lee, stomped forward, his big feet engulfing Dick's vision. Dick slowly brought his head up to Marcus's twisted face. He felt a sense of fight or flight in him but his feet stood frozen. He wasn't ready for this yet. He still had yet to covince Bruce...

Kids crowded around him, High Schoolers and Middle Schoolers stood there watching, their books in their arms or backpacks, eyes trained on Markus.

"Yes?" he asked hesitantly, staring right into the older boys brown eyes. He felt so small, compared to Markus, his small frame a twig compared to Markus' tall, burly body. Markus sneered and threw his head back. His hand shot out and grasped Dick's wrist, causing the eight year old to drop his books in surprise a small _eep! _coming from his mouth. Markus slammed Dicks body into the lockers, the kids watching jumping out of the quickly and surrounding them.

Dick struggled against Markus' hold, kicking and hitting Markus in the stomach. His efforts were in vain, as he could not escape from the boys strong grip. Hesitating then no longer, Markus got up in Dick's face, having to lean down, and whispered, "You miss mommy? Huh, circus freak?"

Dick stopped struggling, his form becoming still as his eyes stared at the ground with an empty look. Markus sneered and laughed along with a few of the High Schoolers, his grip on Dick's wrist tightened and the boy winced, his face contorting into a look of pain. Markus simply laughed, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer.

"I bet she doesn't even miss you, I bet she's _glad_."

And that's when Dick's right fist smashed into Markus' face.

* * *

"Bruce, please?"

"Dick," the older man replied back calmly, folding his arms in his Lay-Z Boy, "it's too dangerous. I don't' want you to get hurt."

"I won't!" Dick exclaimed, leaning forward in the chair across from Bruce's desk, "I'll be trained by you! And you know I can throw a knife! You saw!"

"Not in the way I wanted to see."

Dick nodded slowly, sinking back into his chair. It was pointless, really, arguing with Bruce. And he was right, Dick admitted, it probably wasn't the way he wanted to see if he could throw a knife or not. But Zucco got what he deserved and that was enough for him. It was just a matter of letting Bruce understand this. He wanted to help! Sure, Batman didn't need help, but it would be nice to have a partner to watch the batmobile and could also defend himself incase it would get robbed! Like, someone tried to steal the wheels of the batmobile! He would be able to stop them.

"Dick, are you listening?"

Dick's head snapped up and his thoughts quickly vanished as he look upon an unamused Bruce. He smiled sheepishly and sat up, gripping the sides of the chair with his hands. "No?"

Bruce sighed, clasping his hands together and looking at his desk uncomfortably. He remained like this for a few seconds and his eyes narrowed occasionally. Dick watched him with wary eyes, his mind mulling over what Bruce would say. All in all, he didn't think his request would be accepted. He was still mourning, gravely, but he did that at night, in his dreams. Where they would plague him with memories.

Music floated in the background from the old record player that remained on a shelf with a few books. On it played a melody Dick didn't recognize, a soft and calming, even eerie, piano song. The keys floated through the air like a breeze, catching you off guard when they suddenly popped up without warning.

"Dick," Bruce muttered suddenly, looking up, "I'll have to think about this. You're young and you need to learn discipline. I think you can handle training, but I don't know if you can handle reality."

Dick looked at Bruce with wide eyes, a hint of wariness floated about them, but then the boy sprung up and nodded. "I can!" And with a short smile toward Bruce, he sped out from about the room, tripping slightly over the golden floral carpet. Bruce slowly shook his head and turned away, looking out at the fall leaves. A wind caught in the trees, blowing an array of gold, orange and red around in the wind. He sighed deeply and clasped his hands once more together, leaning back in the chair.

"Mary Grayson, please forgive me."

* * *

Dick walked into his room cheerfully, but then his shoulders sagged and his head hung. Bruce still didn't know about the fight. The school had yet to call, even though it was almost a week ago. But then he smiled and flopped down on his bed' he had convinced Bruce to let him be Batman's partner! A name.. he had to think of a name.

He looked around his room for inspiration. The Light! He thought as he looked at a faded lamp and then laughed, and shook his head. No, that was silly. His eyes touched everything on the side he was facing so he spun around on his buttocks, twisting the grey sheets up, and sat there looking around the room. His eyes landed on a package. He leapt of the bed and walked over to it. He'd never gotten a package before and a flutter of excitement enveloped in his stomach. He reached over and picked it up. The box was light and as he shook his he heard something rattling, the something was rather large, inside it. He grabbed some scissors and, not bothering to see who it was from, he ripped it open.

When he saw what was inside, his heart stopped. Tentatively reaching in, he grasped the small leather booklet that had once belonged to his mother. The book still like it did almost two years ago and he grasped it tightly, blue eyes staring at it as if it were a treasure. He delicately reached and opened the leather cover, to the first page. It was written in his mothers elegant handwriting, the flourishes on the 'f's and 's's still there. He read the first three words: _My little Robin... _

He grabbed the box and looked at who sent it. A smile grazed his lips: Samantha Parker, the agent from DC. Robin... he smiled and tucked the booklet away in his desk. That would be his name.

_Robin. _

* * *

**These two quotes are supposed to make you laugh: (Winston Churchill)**

**Bessie Braddock: "You, sir, are drunk!" **

**Churchill: "And you, madam, are ugly. In the morning, I shall be sober and you will still be ugly."**

**Nancy Astor: "Sir, if you were my husband, I would give you poison." Churchill: "If I were your husband I would take it."**

**It's 1:22 AM right now where I am. Started type at 10:00 PM. I'm dead tired. **

**Review? **

**Any of you who have a tumblr, follow me!**


	15. Chapter 15: Training

**Much longer chapter this time guys. I hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: Nope. Nothing is mine. **

**Sorrow looks back,  
Worry looks around,  
Faith looks up! -Unknown**

* * *

"Again."

Dick breathed tightly and did a front side kick, sweat rolling down his pale face, his hands balled up into fists. Bruce frowned, watching as his ward kick the dummy in the chest, causing it too fall back and then rebound back toward him. Dick jumped back, falling into his fighting stance. The eight year old was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling heavily but steadily.

"Your form is off. Again," Bruce inclined, tilting his head upward as Dick sighed deeply and repeated the stance, his foot sliding a bit to the left as he did so. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and resisted to urge to comment. He was trying his hardest not to tell "Robin" that he was messing up, but every little detail was standing out like a light in the dark and it was almost like he was having OCD with fighting stances.

"Did I get it this time?"

"Stance was off. Again. Dick, you have to-"

"Try harder," the boy whined, "I know. You said it, like, a bazillion times."

Bruce smirked slightly, the boys' facial features looking quite dorky as he pouted with big blue eyes, his bottom lips popping out and his cheeks growing slightly puffy. Bruce raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, his head tilting a little to the left; to Dick, he looked unamused, to Alfred it would be more like amusement.

"Dick, I've only said it seven times. Because you've messed up your stance… seven times."

"You're no fun."

"You're not doing it right. So, now, do it again. Twice more."

Dick sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a habit he'd recently picked up from Bruce, who often did it when he was annoyed when Lex Luthor tried to call him and organize a meeting. It seemed this was happening a lot more than "Mr. Wayne" would have liked it too but what could he do? Sighing, Bruce watched as the boy did it, his stance finally coming to the more appropriate one. They'd been training for three months know, ever since Dick had convinced him to let him be his "partner", and the boy was doing exceptionally well, except a few of his stances were off. He could throw a punch and dodge a ray gun, but he couldn't seem to get his feet in the right place.

His balance was, of course, exceptional, and his "detective skillz" were very well developed. Apparently Dick had told him that when he was at the Circus he would try and pick out different people an analyze them because his father had told him Sherlock Holmes stories to bed and so he'd decided he wanted to be a detective like Sherlock Holmes.

Dick had no problem cart wheeling over punches and flipping over kicks. The dummies that Bruce had were "too easy" and Dick often ended up reprogramming them with the beginner computer skills they'd gone through, most of the time ending up with a bruise he described as a "battle scar". They hadn't gone over weapons yet but Dick had taken a fascination to the Taser that was in Batman's belt and had ended up getting tased because he pressed the wrong button… the only button. Bruce had found it quite humorous and Alfred had just shaken his head while throwing a bucket of ice cold water on the boy to wake him up.

"Did them!" Dick called out, his voice echoing around the cave. He ran up to Bruce, sweating all over, but before he reached him he did a serious of cartwheels and flips. He landed on his toes and fell forward, rolling into a somersault and the landed one foot exactly in front of Bruce, a grin plastered on his face. Bruce couldn't help but smirk as he did so, and as he was about to comment on Dick's form, even though there was nothing wrong with it because Bruce was only a tad jealous that he couldn't do that exactly himself, a message from JL popped up.

Bruce glanced at Dick. "Hide."

The boy nodded and leapt into the shadows, climbing his way up the steel beams that held the cave up. He sat in the rafters, looking down at Bruce and the Batcomputer, swinging his legs gleefully.

Bruce pressed the accept button and watched a picture of Hawk Woman's face popped up. Her helmet was on and her mace was swinging from her bronze belt. She stood stiffly at the camera, looking slightly confused as she watched it intently. After a moment she was smirking under the helmet and her hands were twitching as Bruce's face popped up on the screen.

"_Batman_," she inclined, "_Superman needs you up here, something about the Zeta-Beams? I really don't know and he doesn't exactly want Flash messing with them." _

Bruce nodded, shaking his head at the thought, already in "Batman Mode" as Dick had dubbed it. Apparently, everytime someone from the League would call or arrive unexpectedly, Bruce would go all stoic and silent and calculating. According to the League, Batman didn't need or want a "partner" so Dick was sort of staying out of the League Business by not being a "superhero". Diana and Clark would rip his head off. Shayera would approve and say he was training him to be a soldier. Green Lantern would just shake his head and Martian Manhunter would just stare at him like he was insane. Flash would have a spasm attack. Alfred already had his head.

"The Zeta-Beams are finished," Bruce, or Batman, replied curtly, "what about them?"

Shayera shrugged, glancing back behind her as Flash ran onto the screen in the background. _"I have no idea. But… we don't trust Flash. Or Superman, so we just decided to call you. Are you busy?" _

"Well-"

"_Good, come along now." _

And then the transmission ended, leaving a disgruntled Batman and a very cheeky Robin, who had leapt down gracefully from the rafters. They stared at each other for a few moments and then Dick began to laugh, grasping his stomach and almost falling over. Bruce grunted, pulling away from the computer screen and walking stiffly toward where the cases that held his suits sat. While he would have loved to continue training with "Robin", he really didn't want Flash messing with the Zeta-Tech. It already cost a lot of money and they didn't really need more fundraisers that involved fake Girl-scouts. The last time had been a disaster.

"I'll be back, you stay here."

"Where would I go?"

"Weapons vault." Bruce hesitated and then added, "Barbra's.

Dick scoffed and then smirked, leaning back on his heals. "Never," he drawled and then ran toward the elevator. He pressed the up button and turned around, pivoting on his heels. He cocked his head to the side and stepped backwards as the door opened.

"How dare you accuse me of such a ghastly thing!?"

And then the doors shut and zipped up toward the manor. Bruce shook his head, pulling himself rather reluctantly toward the cases.

He went over the things that he would have to go over with Dick. First actual fighting skills and pressure points and then it would have to be using a grappling gun. Then weapons like a Batarang and then computer skills. While they already did the basic "training", which Dick seemed to really like, Bruce was wary of him learning this trade. The boy was already brilliant in his own right and giving him advancements in technology didn't seem like the best idea. He'd already tried to hack into Gotham Academy's school network because he didn't want green beans for lunch the next day.

Well, he didn't try. He succeeded.

He'd come running toward Bruce with the most happiest look on his face. He promptly yelled that he had hacked into the schools system and they were now having Peach Ice Cream as the side dish on Wednesday. He almost fell out of the chair when an associate of his asked what was going on. He'd been on a business call.

Alfred had found it very funny.

* * *

**][][][**

* * *

Dick had found it quite humorous when he walked into the main foyer to see Wonder Woman, or, as he had been told to call her, Diana Prince. Well, Miss Prince anyway, because he wasn't allowed to call people by their first names. He knew she was Wonder Woman and that she has a thing for Bruce (not that either of them knew it) and to find her in the main foyer made him want to laugh. He wasn't exactly sure why though, of course.

He had happily trotted into the main foyer and was about to make his way up the grand staircase toward his room to read his mothers journal when Miss Prince called out his name. He'd frozen, pivoted on his heels, and turned to find the Amazon princess staring at him with an amused expression. He had sighed deeply and then walked forward, his blue eyes meeting hers.

"Miss Prince!" he called out excitedly, his elated expression simply brightening her day.

"Richard," she mused, "why are you sweating?"

Dick paused and then smiled, the smooth lie rolling over his tongue as he spoke. "Bruce got me a trapeze set so I can keep up my forms and routines-" it wasn't a lie, _technically_ "-I just came back from practicing."

"Oh really?"

"Mmhmm. It's good that I get to practice," he inclined, "Asta e ceea ce spune Alfred oricum!"

Diana smirked slightly, only hearing Alfred's name in the jumble of words. She knew that English wasn't his native language, which she felt truly intriguing, because it wasn't her's either. Ancient Greek came much more easily to her tongue, sliding over the words fluently, and she often preferred to speak in such. It seemed Bruce's ward was making an effort to speak English to everyone, but sometimes he would trip over the words, mixing them up but then move along as if nothing happened. She loved it.

"So," the boy rocked back on his heels, "why are you here? Bruce said you guys… needed him?"

Diana's smile faded a bit as she glanced away but then she looked back at the eight year old, who was staring up at her expectantly, and smiled once more. The League had sent her because Dick knew her the most, and had called Bruce on the "Zeta-beam Situation", which didn't actually exist. She would take Dick out to dinner and see what she could find out about the dynamic duo, because the League *coughSupermancough* was getting weary. Clark still found it a bad idea that Dick was with Bruce and J'onn was really confused about the whole ordeal.

"Yes, but I decided while he was doing that and because I have no idea how the tech works, I'd come a visit you. Want to go for pizza? Have you even gone out for food in Gotham yet?"

Dick laughed and then shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. " Nope! But sure let's go!" And then he turned and ran up to get changed, running up two steps at a time, his delicate pale fingers nimbly touching the silky wood.

* * *

** One Week Later:**

* * *

Flip. Duck. Punch. Duck. Kick.

Dick's thoughts revolved around these three words, running through his head over and over.

Flip. Duck. Punch. Duck. Kick.

He was going over the routines with Bruce and, to himself he had no idea what Bruce was thinking, he was doing exceptionally well. The sweat dripped from his ebony hair, rolling onto his face. His whole body ached and his muscles screamed with each passing minute. But he still went on, his body moving on instinct. He had to keep going, keep moving. His blood pumped through his veins and his heart beat faster with every motion.

Flip.

He ducked down, falling toward the floor in one swift motion.

Punch.

He moved to the side as Bruce's fist whooshed past his ear, only to be met with an empty space filled with air.

Kick.

He jumped out of the way and flipped over a leg, his body moving like liquid; all of it in one fluid motion. He landed nimbly on his toes, which lightly touched the floor like a feather, and fell into a forward stance, his fists rising and his chest rising and falling as he leveled his breath. Bruce was staring at him approvingly, falling from his stance and moving backward.

"Good. _Very_ good. You're getting better, better than better actually, I'm very impressed."

"Will I be able to go out with you soon?" Dick breathed, his breath getting caught in his throat as he awaited an answer. His eyes met with Bruce's and then he immediately glanced away, his fists falling from his front and to his side, fingering his blue and white leotard that gripped his skin tightly, showing the forming muscle. His fingers twitched occasionally and the look on his face told Bruce that he was starting to get impatient.

"Perhaps," Bruce mused, turning toward the Batcomputer. "I'll have to think about it. We still need to work on the Grappling Gun… and the weapons you'll be using."

"Can I go practice Knife throwing now, then?" Dick asked impatiently, sending a mock scowl toward the much older man, crossing his arms and walking forward. He ran ahead of Bruce and plopped down in the large comfy chair that was situated in front of the Batcomputer, spinning around in it with a smirk. He crossed his legs and leaned back, relaxing ever so slightly.

"Yes, so get out of the chair."

"You're no fun!"

"Go throw some knives, I have work to do."

Dick huffed and hopped out, making his way toward the weapons vault. He disappeared behind the large metal door, his soft feather feet not making a sound on the cold steel. Bruce sat down in the chair and listened to the boy rummage around in there, looking for the right knives. Apparently he had a specific one he liked the throw because he liked the ivy design on the side. Not the Bruce recalled any knife he owned with ivy engravings going down the side, but he rolled with it and let Dick do what he wanted.

Eventually he heard the sound of metal against wood. That large _thwack!_ that pierced the air echoed around the empty cave. Sometimes he would turn around and watch his son as he flipped and jumped in the air, throwing the knives and Batarangs with little issue. Whatever he'd learned at the circus must've stuck with him because even Bruce had learned a few things here and there, not that he would ever admit it.

Dick liked extravagance. He liked big, dramatic, something that would make you look at him. Perhaps it was the circus in him, or maybe it was he liked to be looked at, but Bruce needed to get it out of him. Not that he really minded, if anything he thought it amusing, but Dick couldn't be tromping into a drug deal covered with shiny metal. They'd gone over his "Robin" costume, adding things here and there. Dick was intent on having some color while Bruce wanted to make it black and gray with a mottled sort of pattern, allowing his ward to blend in with almost any surrounding. Dick prominently refused.

Eventually they came to an agreement.

Dick had expanded upon his computer skills and had so far convinced his adoptive father to let him take on this area of expertise. He was learning how to create viruses, hack into databases and mainframes, clear off entire hard drives, and hack into security cameras and systems. Overall, the boy had almost figured most of it out, it was just a matter of getting him the tech and showing him the basics. He had a knack for finding problems and patterns and solutions.

He was a genius.

Bruce was proud and he knew Mary and John Grayson would be as well. Dick was smart, evasive, clever, bright, creative and an overall genius. He was learning survival skills from Alfred, and was already making guessing and scenarios in which he would try to find a way out off. Alfred was quite pleased with this and had informed him that he would no longer "require assistance". Dick had been ecstatic, bouncing up in down in his bubbly smart aleck manor.

And then there was Barbra. The girl would've been a bad influence in a way that meant joking wise. Dick already liked to prank, which Bruce had found out the hard way when he's walked in to the Batcave to find his belt painted bright pink, and having the commissioner's daughter around certainly didn't help. Bruce or Alfred would often catch them in the foyer, or in one of the empty rooms, doing cartwheels, backward handsprings, flips and jumps. Though, they made a great team, nevermind the age difference.

He turned around and hefted himself up, pulling his body away from the comfy Lay-Z Boy*, and toward the elevator. Dick was still throwing Batarangs and knives, a determined look on his face. Chuckling, he pressed the "up" button and waited for the door to open. Once it did, he stepped inside and the doors closed, obscuring his view of his ward. A smile began to creep up on his face, which was abnormal because Bruce Wayne rarely ever did smile, and he stepped out into his office, which was engulfed in a pale moonlight.

He always lost track of time in the cave.

"Alfred? Is it ready?" he called out to the British butler, who stepped into the room with a glass of milk on a silver platter.

"Indeed sir, the parts were all assembled this afternoon."

Bruce grinned slightly, walking toward the older man. He grasped the glass of milk and turned away, toward the grand oak doors that led into the office, and walked out. He walked into the main foyer and into a hallway that lay behind the staircase. The wooden frame of the arch was dark and led into an even darker hallway, which held a substantial amount of doorways. The corridor was long and windowless, as it was in the center of the house, and Bruce walked down it as if he were in a sunlit park; calm and relaxed, as if nothing were about to jump out upon him.

He stopped at a door on the right, grasping the knob. He turned the iron knob to the left and the door, old and heavy, creaked open to show a concrete room. It was filled with balance beams, exercise equipment and gymnastics equipment. But the thing that stood out is what Bruce layed his eyes on.

The trapeze.

* * *

**Honesty is as rare as a man without self-pity.**  
**- Stephen Vincent Benet**

**Review? Please? Was this chapter good? I felt it was slow. And don't worry, I'll show the part with Diana and Dick going out to dinner, perhaps in a spin-off one-shot. ;) **

**-Fighter1357**


	16. Chapter 16: First Fight

**Newest chapter is here guys!**

**Happy Thanksgiving guys! **

* * *

Dick never really knew the difference between happiness and joy. To him, the boundary wasn't there. So when he walked into that large gym with the trapeze in the middle, he felt an unmeasured amount of joy flood his body. He hugged Bruce for a quick second, his light, feather-like feet gliding over the smooth mats toward the large metal contraption. His eyes, big and blue, widened as they took in the amount of fun that he would have practicing. His lightening tan skin looked pale in the fluorescent light, but as he reached up at the metal bars this didn't bother him.

He climbed up higher and higher, his grin never leaving his face. He heard a warning from Bruce to "be careful" come from down below, but the warning didn't fully reached him. As he strung the familiar pieces, his fingers flew and tightened knots and made sure everything was in place. The bar, which was latched onto the metal pole, daunted him with it's cold metal and for a split second he felt a certain fear grip his stomach. A quick image flashed through his mind, causing a shiver to crawl slowly down his spine.

He ignored the feeling, suddenly, and grabbed the metal bar. As his fingers, long and nimble, touched the cold metal, the rush of air breathed in his face. He felt suddenly free, again. He turned toward the ledge, his eyes staring straight ahead, refusing to even glance downward. He knew what would happen if he did, and he didn't want too.

"Are you alright, Dick?" Bruce called up, his voice echoing around the large chamber.

Dick whimpered, the sound barely even being heard by himself. He opened his mouth to speak, the sound coming out was relatively close to a "yes" and Bruce seemed to find this acceptable, not even really telling the difference between that and if his surrogate son had actually spoken.

He closed his eyes, breathing evenly and openly. They finally snapped open, just as he decided that he was going down. 1... he began to count, 2... almost there, he thought, 3...

And then he fell.

And he fell, no, he flew with such an elegant grace that gravity had no call on him. He body curved gradually as he got closer to the ground, as close as on could get, and the way his eyes were open, made you think he was seeing something different. They weren't horrified, like he was seeing his mother reaching for him as she fell, but more melancholy. They were melancholic in a way that you could imagine that he was flying, alone, through some dreary night sky where his open eye his let loose tear drops that fell like rain, leaving patches of azure flowers where they fell. You could see him with his arms spread wide as he moved openly, the forces calling on him to return. You could see him leaving them all behind.

He began to ascend back toward the other platform, his legs swinging forth so that his feet could land properly on the platform. His hair, ruffled from the wind, fell back in his face as he landed, grabbing onto a bar so he couldn't fell backward. He figured that would be bad.

"You having fun?" Bruce replied, his voice more softer than before.

"Yes," Dick called down, his voice coarse. "Very much. Thank you, Bruce."

He began to climb down and hearing Bruce say "you're welcome" made him feel giddy inside, as if he were the only person that Bruce said "you are welcome" too. He knew that he loved Bruce very much, but he just wasn't ready to call him "Dad". It didn't feel right. It felt too early. But, after everything that he had done for him, calling him "Bruce" just seemed disrespectful. It seemed wrong, like calling his birth father John instead of dad.

Dick walked over, his hands tight, calluses' beginning to form from the absence of chalk. Bruce smiled down at him, his brown hazel eyes looking for something. Dick wasn't sure what, but he smiled his biggest most pleased smile and he could see that whatever Bruce had been looking for had been found.

"Not that I'm not excited, really, why did you get it for me?"

"Well," Bruce hesitated, as if unsure even of his own answer. "I thought that you needed it. And I hope, really, that it won't just be a reminder. Alright?"

Dick adamantly nodded his head, his blue eyes now wide and a grin plastered on his pale face. He grabbed Bruce's hand and pivoted on his heels, tugging for the older man to come. Bruce, at first, didn't let himself be pulled, his eyebrows slowly moving up at Dick pulled harder and harder. Eventually, he gave in; a sudden whim to let his surrogate son take him overwhelmed him.

"Whoa there," he cried out playfully, causing Dick to giggle. "Slow down, chum."

"Chum?" Dick inquired, stopping and glancing upward.

Bruce looked amused, his expression taking the one it often did when he was amused after he confused somebody. "Chum, my…own father used to call me chum."

With this obviously satisfying answer, Dick continued to pull, the grin on his face far larger than any before.

"Come on! You have to try now!" Dick yelled, manually urging Bruce's hand on the ladder that went all the way up. He tugged harder, squeezing his eyes shut. "Please!"

"Dick, I'm in a suit."

"And?"

"I don't think Alfred would be too pleased with me if it got ripped."

"…Oh."

* * *

**][][][ July 5th, 2006**

* * *

Dick was excited, today they were going out. It would be his first patrol, his first time out with Batman. He'd been in Gotham numerous times, but only because of school and he'd taken the same route every time. Now, he thought. He'd be seeing it from above. From where the birds saw it. He felt giddy inside. He pulled on his costume, snapping the belt together. At the moment, he just wore green gloves and green sleeves, Bruce would add the good computer-gloves later. He had green spandex pants on, and a pair of pixie like boots. They'd have to get rid of those, he thought as he crinkled his nose. He felt like Tinker Bell. He snapped the black cape on, which was a golden color on the inside. Glancing down at the yellow "R" in the black circle on his chest made him feel…right.

And then, came the domino mask. He stared at it for a few long moments, holding it in his green-gloved hands. The white lenses would hide his eyes from the enemy, and he gingerly touched them. They were hard, but the mask would react to how he moved his eyes, as Bruce told him. If he narrowed his eyes, the white would narrow too. He hadn't worn it, and was worried on whether or not it would hurt, like how he imagine those contact lenses people wore if they were too lazy to put on glasses.

Bruce, or Batman, had said that they should only come across the common thug. Bank robber, or car thief. They were often large, dumb and sometimes carried a knife and/or a gun. Ski masks were often worn as well. Batman said that Dick should easily take them out and that should he react the same way he did when Bruce had pretended to come at him with the rubber knife to practice evasive maneuvers. He said that he had to dodge and jab, most of them simply used their weight to fight. And the ones who did know how to fight would be taken on by Batman. He wanted "Robin" to go slow, not that Robin liked it; then again, he couldn't exactly argue. Batman would put off Robin's first night out till next month.

At first, Robin had been worried about the big baddies. The insane guys you heard about on the news. Joker, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Penguin, Clay face and Riddler; but Batman said not to worry. They were locked up in Arkham Asylum. Robin had then wondered aloud why Bruce just didn't donate money to the City to create better rooms, better and tighter room, for the inmates to stay in so they couldn't get out. Bruce, not Batman, said that if he did people would be questioning it for months, what would Bruce Wayne's motive be? And if Batman donated the money, or gave the money, then people would figure out he was rich and then they could narrow down the list of people too a bare minimum, especially if they figured it was someone in Gotham City.

He slipped the mask on.

It didn't hurt, but it still felt weird. Like he was covering himself up, hiding himself. It felt wrong, especially when his parents had taught him to show people that it was him. He sighed sadly but then grinned at he precariously threw the cape over his shoulders. He walked over to the Batcomputer, where Batman was sitting in the chair.

"I'm ready," he inclined, leaning over on his toes to look at the computer. Bruce exited out at that moment, standing up and pulling the cowl over his head. His face hardened, his mouth falling into a thin line on his face.

"Good, get in the car."

Robin nodded, bounding up toward the car with a large grin on his face. He knew that Batman usually kept a refined, impassive, blunt face and posture and that he would too. But he couldn't wait to fall straight from a building, feeling the rush that would boil up in your blood. It reminded him of the trapeze, he just couldn't look down.

Batman walked over, sliding into the drivers seat with a glance toward his partner.

Partner, it fit.

"You ready, partner?"

Robin grinned up at his partner, nodding his head. Batman turned the Batmobile on, the engine beginning to churn and purr. He shifted the car into gear and they sped off down the hallway. They didn't know that Alfred was standing at the elevator, watching Bruce Wayne break his own promise to himself.

* * *

**][][][ July 5th, 2006 10:16 P.M**

* * *

Despite it being in the summertime, the wind was cool. On the highest building in Gotham, the Wayne Enterprises building, the wind whipped around the duo, pulling at their capes. Robin, who was grinning despite the cold, was crouched down on the edge of the building, his gloved hands gripping the ledge tightly. Batman was watching him, his eyes flickering to the city and then back to his partner, making sure he didn't fall from a strong gust of wind.

The lights of the glittered through the light, misty fog that had settled over the city. Buildings flickered on and off and neon signs all the way from the pubs down by the docks shined brightly.

"It's amazing," Robin inclined bubbly, looking up at his mentor with a grin. "Better than I imagined!" He felt so free up there, his smile brighter than a shooting star. He grinned down at the people that scurried down below them. He could faintly see people and cars and streetlights and bikes. He fingered the edge of the building, his gloved hands gingerly touching the rough concrete that was lined with shining steel, which reflected the city's lights.

"What now?" he asked after a few moments had passed by, glancing back at his partner/mentor, his eyes contorting the mask so that Robin was looking at Batman with a questioning look.

Batman glanced at him and Robin could have sworn that he saw the faintest smile pass on his lips. Then he glanced away, taking a step toward the edge of the building. He looked down, crossing his arms. He stepped right up to the edge, where the end of his boots meet the dirty air that hung off the building at night. "Now? We fly." And then he slowly rocked forward, grabbing the edges of his cape. Robin watched as he lurched forward, falling into the open air, his eyes wide as they watched him shoot out the grappling gun and swing toward the top of a slightly lower building. And then Batman disappeared in the shadows. But Robin could see him, just a bit. He wondered why common thugs couldn't see him. But then again, they weren't trained to notice the little details. His stupid Eidetic* (as his mother had called it) memory helped with that.

He suddenly scurried back from the edge, his feet pushing back so he landed butt first on the cold concrete. He closed his eyes, trying to get rid of all those images that flashed before him. What if he messed up? What if he fell?

What if he let Bruce down?

He shivered, his eyes closed shut. Slowly, he felt himself moving forward. He wasn't sure how he knew where to stop, but when he did he could feel that open July air biting into his skin. He breathed it in, along with all the pollution, and lifted his arms. It felt so right, but so wrong right at the same time. He didn't peek, he didn't even open his eyes. But then he lurched forward, falling into open space.

For a few seconds he felt that adrenaline rush pierce his body, the wind brush and lift his ebony hair. And then… once four seconds had passed, his eyes snapped open and he shot out that grappling gun quicker than Indiana Jones snapping his whip. He shot it in the same place at Batman had, and he suddenly swung forward, moving in an entirely new direction. Newton's… third law of motion? Yes, he believed, and his memory never failed him. When he reached that building, he narrowly saw Batman's figure in the shadows. He retracted the grappling, using the extra momentum to fall forward into a roll. He came up, his cape shrouding him, in the shadows.

He looked at Batman, awaiting either his approval or his reprimand.

"Good job."

Robin smirked, standing up.

"Patrol now?"

"No," Batman replied, walking forward. "Police were just informed that there's been a robbery. Perfect, I want you to take them out."

Robin blanched, Batman was making it sound as if he were the only one to be fighting. "You'll be there right? I mean, we have no idea how many guys there are. And I need to some help…I think. Please!?"

"…I'll be there."

Robin grinned, the ends of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. Batman turned away, glancing to the side as Robin walked forward. He looked up and smiled brightly, his cheerful mood infecting Batman just a little so that a small smile grazed his lips in return. "Run and jump," Batman inclined, then he threw himself off the building. Robin followed closely behind, excitement running through his veins. They both shot the grappling guns with precision aiming, Robin only messing up a few times by missing his target and hitting something else.

They came across flashing police lights. People were surrounding the building, the police line was slowly pushing them back. Obviously the robbers were still inside, shouts, no matter how far they were, were emitting from the building. Gun shots ran out and for a few seconds it was quiet, the only sound being the police sirens. Batman and Robin dropped down in the shadows, both letting their capes shroud themselves. Robin felt nervous as the walked forward, never having been in this sort of situation. He decided to let Batman handle it.

"Batman!" Someone called out, tons of shouts ran out.

"I thought he was a myth!"

"Take a picture! Take a picture!"

"Who's the kid?"

Robin shrunk back even more, hiding himself slightly with Batman's cape.

"Batman," Commissioner Gordon noted calmly, whipping around so that he was facing him, the bullhorn forgotten. He hadn't noticed Robin yet, and Robin desperately wanted to keep it that way. "We can't get inside. Two officers have already been shot, no casualties but they've been injured. There are hostages, and we needed you. Most of the officers are here. I figured you had a police scanner-"

"Enough." Robin jumped, Batman's voice was lower and gruff. He shivered, but slowly pushed it away. "We'll find a way in," he hesitated and then added, "My partner and I, that is."

Gordon's eyes went wide as he backpedaled. Slowly, he looked around Batman only to be greeted with a small boy, about seven or eight, in a costume with a domino mask. Most of the costume was shrouded by the black, spandex cape but he could see the boy wore spandex green gloves and green pixie boots and leggings. His red tunic was a cherry sort of red and a yellow circle held a black "R" in the middle. But…he was a child. Had Batman finally gone insane?

"Robin," Batman said suddenly, causing the small boy to look up. "Are you ready?"

The boy, Robin, nodded, shrugging the cape, which was golden on the inside, away. He was so brightly colored, while there stood Batman next to him in his black and grey costume. The only things that were the same were the impassive face, the yellow utility belt and the way they stood; strong and tall.

"Well," the Commissioner cleared his throat, "I'll keep my men from shooting in there-"

"Robin can carry himself," Batman interrupted, "I know this, or else I wouldn't have let him out here. He's ready."

Commissioner nodded, not wanting to fight his only way of getting the Back Robbers arrested and out of there.

Batman nodded and then gestured for Robin to follow him as he shot up the grappling. Robin hesitated, staring at the Commissioner. He grinned up at the man, giving a small wave, and then bounded up, shooting the grappling up. And then, he disappeared into the shadows, following his mentor.

* * *

**][][][ Newspaper, 1 day later:**

* * *

**BATMAN HAS A HELPER?* **

**by James Newman**

The famous crime-fighting hero, Batman of Gotham City, has a partner. The Bat himself has been reportedly known to say that he works alone, despite his connections to the Justice League. Before, the hero was commonly known as a myth that fellow Gothamites said to turn down the possibility that someone might help them. He was reported perhaps once a month by bystanders who looked up at the right time in the right place. The reports were scattered and the Police brushed them off as a group of people messing with them. That is, until the GCPD's own commissioner, James Gordon, saw him. The police, attempting to arrest this vigilante, saw him fleeing a crime scene that he was supposedly investigating. He disappeared when the police burst in the room, having set up this trap for a mob boss but instead finding the supposed hero. He then helped the police investigate a large Mob dealing with illegal imports, and then got them on his side. While, of course, many officers of the police distrust him, he still helps out. The question still remains, however, whether or not he is with us or against us.

But we know the Bat's story. Now we have a new hero to listen and watch. Batman's own partner, a boy, a child. He looks to be about seven or eight years old, with black hair. That's all we know. He wears a red costume and green gloves and boots, with his own cape and mask. They were reported being seen at the robbery last night down on Kings Boulevard. A name was said, only twice or three times. The name "Robin". Batman and Robin.

The Dynamic Duo.

But do we have anything to worry about? Sure. If Batman truly is this menace that Gothamites make him out to be, could he be perhaps this boy to take his place when someone finally rids themselves of the big bad Bat? Of course. Batman's new partner seems to be more…happier. Will this perhaps have an affect on the vigilante?

We might not ever know. But one thing we do know; the Batman, the Dark Knight, has had a change of heart.

* * *

**The bank fight will be in the next chapter, don't worry!**

Eidetic*: **1. able to recall with startling accuracy: **able to recall or reproduce things previously seen, with startling accuracy, clarity, and vividness _an eidetic memory_

**2. recalled with startling accuracy: **recalled or reproduced with startling accuracy, clarity, and vividness _eidetic images_ Basically, if you see it, and/or hear it, you will never, ever forget it. I felt that Robin would be one of those rare cases.

Newspaper*: I don't know how he got the police on his side, of how he first began. Well, I've seen the batman movies, but that doesn't exactly help. Either way, that was completely made up. please do not go and say that that's what happened. I'm going to watch Batman: Year One and then I might change it.

**Hope you liked this chapter.**


	17. Chapter 17: The End

**I. am. so. sorry. **

**I am. **

**Really. **

* * *

**April 4, 2007 10:16 PM One Year Later**

* * *

Being ten had certainly hit Dick hard.

Very hard.

When he turned ten he had shut himself in his room the entire day, refusing any presents from Bruce, Alfred and Barbra. He was sitting on his thin, summer sheets, thinking back to his first fight on July 5th, 2006. His parents faces wove themselves into the memory, causing him to stare wide eyed at the dust that floated precariously around the room, the sunlight streaming from the window announcing their presence.

The bank fight.

His first fight.

A fight he would never forget. Of course, Dick had felt very proud in fact that he had won the fight without Batman's help and felt that if he told his parents this, they would've been proud too. He knew that he couldn't talk to them, he that they were dead, but he still sat at his desk sometimes and wrote letters to his parents. When he finished writing and crying, he would fold the letter up, stick in in an envelope and walk over to a wall that had a large tapestry (which he was trying to get rid of by convincing Alfred it was making his sinuses go weird) and open up a secret panel in the wall where all the letters were. He had discovered it accidentally when he was tapping on the wall to see if one was hallow and he could convince Bruce to put an entrance to the Batcave there. When he found it, purely going off confusion, he took off the panel and found a rather large boxy area where he could stick things. He wasn't sure how far it went back, he couldn't see the end, but found it very useful to store his letters.

There were, so far, over forty letters to his parents.

Some were short, with him only remarking about school and Bruce and some were long; they talked about his and Bruce's adventures as the Dynamic Duo. A lot of times, a letter was four or five pages long and only some of the time were they merely a page.

Dick was now staring down at the empty piece of paper, his Superman pen held in his hand he was poised over the desk, as if getting ready to jump over it into the wall. His blue eyes stared down in concentration at the paper. If looks could kill, he thought dully, my paper would be a mass of smoldering embers.

Suddenly, he fell back into his IKEA chair, and growled angrily at the paper. What would his parents want to know? He didn't know… he wanted them to know something about what happened. He hadn't written the letters till about five months ago, and so, of course, his first fight wouldn't be there.

His first fight.

The thought licked his mind.

That, he figured, his parents would love to know.

* * *

_Dear Mami and Tati, _

_Hello again, I know it's been a while since I've seen you, but I still love you. I want to tell you another story. It is another one where Bruce and I went out as Batman and Robin. This is my first fight. I had no help from Batman! Isn't that not good? I found it very easy, because I trained with Batman for many, many months. It was good and hard, like I told you. It reminded me of training with you two, I was pushed very hard, but I could handle it. :) _

_We came down to the bank where the police were waiting. People were confused about me and did not understand why I was there. I thought it was funny but Batman did not like when the people kept asking me questions and pointing at me. I didn't care though, I liked the attention. I went into the bank, with Batman behind me just in case something happened to me (he wouldn't let that happen so it's okay mami). I went in and the bank robbers were holding the people inside hostage. I got really mad because they shouldn't be doing that. Anyway, I walked up toward one of them because he was facing away from me and tapped him on the shoulder. And then, quickly, I slipped into the shadows, so he spun around and saw nothing. Then, I threw a birdarang at him and he fell to the ground, unconscious. All of the other robbers looked around, scared, and one of them yelled that it was the Batman. Another said he didn't exist, it was just something the papers did too scare the criminals. And then, I laughed and jumped out and attacked. _

_Two of the robbers charged at me, but I punched and blocked their moves. I got hit a few times, but nothing more than a few bruises is what I got. I knocked them out (I didn't think I did too bad, and Batman said I did really good!) and then big guy with the gun came out at me. _

_I won. But I almost got shot twice. I don't want you to be mad at Bruce though! He was coming to save me when I threw down smoke bombs and the gas knocked him out. Then the police came in and it was okay. Batman and I left and he checked me for major injuries, I didn't have any big ones. _

_That is it. It's all I wanted to tell you. I love you. _

_I miss you. _

_-Your Little Bird_

* * *

Dick took the letter and stuffed it in the compartment. He missed them so much. Wiping away tears, he turned around and sat on his bed.

When he grew up, he was going to be Batman. He was going to be strong, smart. He would help run Wayne Tech. He would be the Batman, working with the Justice League. He would be happier though, he wouldn't be sad. He would be a hero and he would make people smile. He would swing from rooftop to rooftop, launching himself into the air like a robin, saving people and stopping crimes; he would battle Arkham's worst criminals and defeat them without a single thought of losing. He would be Batman. He would be Bruce Wayne, and he would be his father, John Grayson.

Dick smiled to himself, hugging his pillow close to his chest. He closed his eyes, his tight pale hands gripping the pillow as if it were his lifeline.

"I promise," he said to himself in a slow whisper, "That I will be the Batman and I will be Tati, no matter what. And nothing will take that away."

He layed down on his bed, staring up at the velvet coverings and grinned to himself. Tomorrow, he was going to go hang out with Wonder Woman, or in other words, Diana Prince. Batman was doing something for the Justice League with Superman. He couldn't wait to join the Justice League. When he asked Bruce when it would happen, Bruce just said sometime when you're older. Dick took that at thirteen, because that was three years a way and that was a heck of a long time for a ten year old. Still, he couldn't wait to join, to be a part of the Justice League. Despite G. Gordon Godfrey completely throwing it under the bus all the time, a lot of people supported the JL and a lot of Dick's school did too. It was funny, he would think, when he was walking down the hall and someone would be having an argument with someone else about Superman and Batman. Dick was smirk to himself and think "I know of them. What." but he couldn't exactly say that so he could just smirk.

"Master Richard!"

Dick glanced up to see Alfred standing over him, hands on his hips and a steady glare on his face. He smiled innocently, knowing why Alfred looked so angry.

"Um, yes?"

"Master, sir, you're supposed to be in bed. It is 10:30 now. In bed! Did you brush your teeth, sir?"

Dick groaned, puffing an annoyed breath, blowing his hair out of his face. "Yes Alfred."

"Good."

"Yeah, yeah," Dick muttered, sliding under the covers and watching Alfred retreat from the room, turn of the light and whisper and hurried good night. He lay in bed for a while, staring up into the darkness that wasn't just dark yet, the moon wormed it's way through his curtains to give his room a light, blueish glow. He layed on his back, his hands clasped loosely on his stomach and his eyes unblinking. His mind, racing a thousand miles a minute. Of course, he didn't go to sleep for what seemed like hours but actually only twenty minutes. He thought about school and how his classes seemed to be easier than he expected. He thought of Barbra, his only friend at school, and how she was too much trouble than she was worth and yet he didn't care anyway.

He thought about Bruce and Alfred and how he'd come to love them just a little more since he'd moved in. He'd grown accustomed to not seeing Bruce a lot but then again, he saw him far more frequently now that they were partners in justice (though partners in crime had more ring to it, Dick figured it would be rather ironic) and he found that Alfred was a lot like Pop Haley because he acted like such the grandfather. However, Pop Haley was more inclined to make Dick laugh, while Alfred seemed to be more inclined to him doing his homework the day he got it.

Dick found out that homework was the worst thing ever. He didn't have it when he was homeschooled (and don't try the 'Isn't all work homework then'? joke, he'd heard it enough) because he simply sat there and memorized math text books, science texts and read everything he could get his hands on and did problems frequently. It was easy and he balanced it with his training, which was far more entertaining, so that he was flexible enough that he could match most professional, regular gymnasts at the age of four. Of course, he hadn't reached his parents level yet but he figured that wasn't until he was at least 18, if he did the math correctly and continued on with gymnastics and being a hero, which he had no doubt that he would continue doing.

Being ten years old of course, did not allow him to add death into the equation and as far as Dick had done, death was not going to be in his future until he was ripe and old, like Pop Haley or Alfred.

* * *

"Dick, I don't think you get it, the weather is like a woman on this thing my dad won't tell me about, it constantly changes, alright?"

Dick nodded, chewing his sandwich slowly in his mouth. Barbra nodded and glanced away, toward where a group of older middle schooler's were standing. Neither said anything for a moment, shivering in the cold as a light drizzle cascaded onto the city. It was cold, chilly even for April, and Dick was wrapped tightly in a navy blue Gotham Academy cardigan that literally did nothing to keep out the cold. Barbra was eating potato chips from a plastic bag, scanning the area for any unwelcome schoolmates who might've wanted to join them on their bench.

No one came near their bench and no one sat on their bench. It was theirs and Dick and Barbra were inclined to keep it that way.

"So, see that girl over there?" Barbra pointed at a blonde girl who was wearing the regular Gotham Academy Uniform for girls. Dick nodded, taking the final bite of his sandwich and moving onto his apple.

"Okay, her name is Bette Kane, avoid her like the plague."

Dick glanced at her curiously. "What's the plague?"

She shrugged. "I don't I hear my dad say it once so it must be smart. Now, her and all her friends. Their gonna think you're weird, they'll be right but when they say they will mean it in a bad way."

Dick scowled, knowing where she was going with it. He stared at Bette Kane though, wondering why Barbra was telling him to stay away from her, despite being at the academy for a while now. He was ten, he figured he could stay away from people he judged correctly. "I know that Babs. And I'm not weird!"

"Yes you are," Barbra inclined, patting him on the head. He shot her a glare. "But it's a good weird," she continued, ignoring the glare. "Like, not bad-weird but good-weird. Know what I mean?"

"No. And I'm not weird… I'm just whelmed."

She looked at him curiously. "You're _what_?"

"I'm whelmed. Like, you know… whelmed. Everyone is either overwhelmed or under whelmed, why can't they just be whelmed?"

She rolled her eyes, but a smile was playing at her lips. She turned away again to stare at Bette Kane, who was holding up a jacket over her bleach blonde hair from the rain as she and her friends ran across the courtyard. "Because it isn't a word."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, it just isn't."

"I think that gives me more reason to use it."

"You're weird."

Dick didn't respond for a while and then…

"Yeah, I know."

After a good ten minutes, they finished up their lunch and threw their trash away, walking into the dry school and parting ways, waving as they walked to their classes. Dick grinned as he walked into his english class, thinking of the word whelmed and how Barbra wasn't very whelmed.

He laughed and sat down in his seat, thinking of the future.

* * *

_**The End**_


End file.
